


Fearsome Critters and Where (Not) to Find Them

by voicedimplosives



Series: The Critterverse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cryptozoology, F/M, Post-Thor (2011), Pre-Avengers (2012), Road Trips, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12247896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voicedimplosives/pseuds/voicedimplosives
Summary: What if... the Asset was sent on a mission to New Mexico, weeks before Steve was found? What if... Darcy didn't follow Jane to England, but pursued her interest in a different kind of "science"? What if... our plucky lovebirds met up in the most unlikely of coincidences, and decided to team up, for the most unlikely of road trips?Lots of things could happen, in theory. After all, in a post-Thor world, anything is possible... right?





	1. Chupacabra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bit by bit each piece of the Chupacabra puzzle comes together. The original 1995 Puerto Rican Chupacabra sightings have been discredited. Scientific analysis of alleged Chupacabra carcasses have turned out to be those of normal animals. If careful examination of the evidence shows that the Chupacabra probably does not exist except as a sociocultural entity and a figment of cinematic imagination, then what killed the Chupacabra victims? It seems something was killing (and sucking blood from) various animals-- if not the Chupacabra, then what? And why?”
> 
> ######  _Tracking the Chupacabra: The Vampire Beast in Fact, Fiction, and Folklore_ , Benjamin Radford
> 
> ###### 

#### Puente Antiguo, New Mexico

“Darcy. You can't seriously be considering doing this.”

Darcy looked up from the book she was reading to see Jane peering down at her skeptically, brows drawn together and lips pulled tight in a thin, disapproving line.

“You're right, Jane! I'm not considering anymore, I'm decided. I'm doin' the damn thing.”

“Darcy,” Jane tried again, leaning against the metal arm of their makeshift office's couch, “You don't think it's kind of, well, silly?”

“Nope, no. We can't say that anymore, Jane!”

Jane sighed, and slid down onto the couch next to Darcy. “Bigfoot is not real, Darcy.”

“But how can we be sure?” Darcy countered, pushing herself into a sitting position and showing Jane the blurry photo of the mysterious creature in the book she'd been studying. “If Thor and the poetic Edda is real, we can't assume that. It could be real. Any of it. All of it. That means every urban legend, every myth, every folk tale that was ever told. And that includes the Sasquatch.”

“That is just... _not_ sound logic! Besides, what about school?”

“School can wait,” Darcy muttered, licking her lips as she scribbled another point of interest about the arcane cryptid into the notebook on her lap. “I'm an animal lover, Jane. And I wanna find some animals. Spooky ones. Freaky ones.”

“We're not talking about animals though, are we Darcy?” Erik called out from the table where he was examining the sketches Jane had made during her recent conversations with Thor. “They're cryptids, Darcy. Mankind made them up. Cryptozoology is a pseudo-science; they're all just hoaxes.”

“And the Norse gods are fairy tales, Selvig! Right?” Darcy arched an eyebrow, peering at the older man over her plastic-framed glasses.

“So let's say you find the Sasquatch. Or the... Chupacabra. Or whatever else you're looking for,” Erik leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen in one hand as he speculated, “What will you do with them?”

“Uh, do with them? Nothing. You think I'm gonna snuggle up to a Chupacabra? Hell no! I'm going to document the ever-loving daylights out of it and run as fast as my feet will take me in the other direction. And then? Then I'm going to be a disgustingly wealthy woman, Erik. And if you guys are nice to me, and let me take the Pinzgauer on this money-making venture, I may even consider sharing the spoils with you.” Darcy rose from the couch, crossing the airy, open work-space to pour herself a cup of coffee, and smiled smugly when she noticed them staring after her with consternation. “You know, some people say worm holes are purely theoretical, don't they? Almost like... a pseudo-science. Hmm.”

Jane groaned with frustration and went to the cabinet, where she pulled out a package of strawberry Pop-Tarts. She shoved them into the toaster, then whirled towards her intern. “I can't say we'll be here when you're finished, Darcy. I've written applications for a few grants. There's one I think we have a pretty good chance of getting, and if we do, Erik and I are heading to Europe.”

Erik glanced at Jane, then at Darcy. “You're... you're welcome to come, Darcy. You're a part of this team, an important one. We might even be able to find something extra in the budget to pay you with.”

Darcy looked between the two of them, recognizing without their tacitly saying so that this was something they'd discussed beforehand. “Guys... that's great. Seriously! Congratulations. Of course I want to join you.”

Jane exhaled audibly with relief, and Erik beamed at her.

“Right after I prove that all of the creatures from our folk tales are real, and make my first million.”

§

#### Washington, D.C.

Alexander Pierce was a busy man, and today was a busier day than most. He'd finally succeeded, just yesterday, in getting the shipment through customs and now it was waiting patiently for his inspection in the vault of a local bank. Pierce knew he only had about a half an hour between his last meeting and his lunch with Senator Stern, and in the interest of keeping his daily itinerary seemingly public and transparent, this would have to be merely a check-in.

He entered the building and crossed the marble antechamber at a brisk pace, nodding at the security guards stationed by the tellers as a manager of the bank joined him mid-stride. Together they made their way down several hallways, through various unmarked doors, and finally, towards the thick set of bars that separated the security deposit depot and vault from the bustling work-a-day business up front. “Everything is in order, I trust?” Pierce asked the manager as they walked.

“Perfectly so, sir,” the employee said under her breath. She procured a set of keys, opening the thick metal gate that kept out the public. Several of his men were stationed inside, and they nodded to him respectfully as he entered the vault.

Pierce whistled cheerily as he took in the hulking, frost-covered casket sitting in the center of the reinforced room. He approached it, noting the wires attached to the nearby generator, and a pervasive drip of water that had formed a puddle underneath. He pointed to the pool, raising his eyebrows waspishly to the manager. She nodded nervously, murmuring, “I'll have someone see to it right away, sir.”

He leaned over the front of reinforced steel lid. There was a small porthole window to one end, the contents within almost completely shrouded by the lacy rime encrusted on the glass. Pierce pulled the handkerchief from his breast pocket and rubbed clear a small circle, peering inside at the blue-tinged face of a dark-haired young man, eyes closed and mouth slightly opened. Pierce could just barely detect slight puffs of air escaping the man's full lips every minute or so. This didn't worry him in the slightest; he knew all too well that the man's serum-enhanced body could endure the freezing procedure and its depression of his bodily functions.

He'd be fine. He was the Winter Soldier. HYDRA's greatest asset. And he was once again on American soil, ready to do Pierce's bidding as soon as he was thawed. There were a few tasks Pierce wanted the asset for on this go-round, but there was one very pressing need that demanded immediate attention. The astrophysicist, Jane Foster, and her associates. It was a tricky case; Pierce knew Coulson had left behind some of his own trusted agents to discretely keep an eye on her. But she'd been a witness and accomplice to the extraterrestrial, this mysterious Thor character, and now that he was gone, for however long that was, she was a loose end that needed tying. And nobody tied loose ends as neatly as the Winter Soldier. Foster had to go, Selvig and the intern too. They knew far too much, and Pierce suspected that if they were allowed to keep digging, they might eventually stumble upon the Tesseract.

And that was unacceptable.

§

#### Puente Antiguo, New Mexico

In the end, Darcy had been able to buy the Pinzgauer from Erik for $200 and the promise to call every Sunday. He'd even thrown in his old sleeping bag, which he said he'd been hanging onto nostalgically without ever actually using since the late eighties. It was a steal, she figured, since the thing's massive carriage and canvas roof meant she'd save a fortune on hotel rooms during her trip. She thought Erik looked a little misty-eyed as she lugged all of Jane's equipment into the office and hurled her two massive black trash bags, one full of clothes and the other spare odds and ends she'd brought with her to New Mexico, into the now-spacious interior. But by the time she'd pulled Jane away from her computer long enough to hug her, and given him the same treatment, he seemed to have gathered himself.

“Every Sunday. That's the deal.” His hands were heavy on her arms as he locked eyes with her intently, his forehead creased with worry.

“Come on Erik, it's gonna be great. I'll be out on the open road, I've basically got a tank to live inside of, thank you again for that, and I've got all this SHIELD hush money to burn through!” She didn't want him to worry, didn't want him to think she couldn't do this. Darcy could handle herself, had been doing so for years. She'd more or less kept him and Jane alive for the last three months; if there was someone who should be worrying about someone else, it was her for them.

Jane had followed them out onto the dusty field next to the old converted diner they called home and was watching the interaction with displeasure. “It's not hush money, it's supposed to help you finish your education,” she scolded. “I know it's a lost cause, but I'm going to ask you one more time to please not do this.”

“Where's your sense of adventure, Doctor Foster?” Darcy asked cheekily as she climbed up into the driver's seat of the massive vehicle. “I'll see you in Europe when the money runs out. You two take care of each other, I left you a chore chart that should keep you fed and relatively organized for at least six months.”

Erik chortled bemusedly and Jane sighed, grabbing something from her jacket pocket, then climbed up onto the running board to place it in Darcy's hand.

“What's this?” she asked, pushing her glasses up her nose. In her hand was a brass pendant. Jane pressed a knob to the side and it split in half. Under the glass face was a compass rose, its needle swinging gently for a moment before settling on 'W'. “Jane... it's beautiful. Thank you. But... you know I have a phone, with GPS, right?”

“It's sentimental, dummy. I want it back. When you join us. In Europe.” Jane pulled her in for a quick hug, releasing before she even had time to reciprocate, and jumped back down to the ground. She stood beside Erik, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand and waving as Darcy started the engine. She honked twice, blew a kiss out the window, then shifted her eyes to the sunset-backed mountains, the shadowy desert, and the open road before her.

§

The Asset was flown to the designated coordinates outside of Puente Antiguo, where his jet landed shortly after 18:30 MDT. Upon landing he was handed the keys to a modified black Volkswagen Jetta, two rifles, two pistols, a hunting knife, an ultra-lightweight sleeping tent, thirty yards of nylon rope, six plastic zip-ties, two changes of clothes, and $5000 in cash. He loaded all of these supplies into the trunk of the car before nodding at Rumlow and lowering himself into the driver's seat. The radio came to life when he turned the key in the ignition, and he flinched at the discordant wails and clanging that passed for music now, stabbing frantically at the buttons on the console to make it stop.

Then he turned his eyes to the road. He was about fifteen miles outside of town. In HYDRA's last intercepted report from the SHIELD agents assigned to his Mission, they'd noted that it looked like the three marks had been unloading equipment from their vehicle, possibly preparing to travel. He needed to situate himself in a position where he could observe their activities, get a feel for their routine. He drove at a sensible speed as he mentally reviewed the street map that had been shown to him earlier. Perhaps parking somewhere near the center of town, alongside the diner, where they couldn...

Just as the Asset was triangulating street corners in his head, he noticed the lumbering all-terrain vehicle departing the town on the two-lane highway. The appearance of a white vehicle of that make and model was enough for him to reduce his speed. New Mexico plate, LG3 Z41. He tried to peer into the front window to assess the occupants but the glare from the setting sun left it opaque, all he could see was a reflection of the streaky bubble gum and tangerine sky behind him. Still. This was the car, those were the plates. The Mission was undoubtedly aboard. He gave the driver about two minutes to pass him and make its way in the other direction, then checking the road ahead of him and the rear window, he slowed the car to a crawl, braked, and swung into a K-turn, accelerating to catch his marks while still maintaining as much distance as he was could allow.

The Asset's face bore the faint traces of a grim, satisfied smile.

§

#### Antelope, Texas, somewhere along U.S. Highway 281

Darcy had driven merrily through the night, keeping herself amused by bouncing along to old musicals on tape cassette she'd found at a yard sale. She gradually consumed an entire bag of Twizzlers and two liters of soda, the caffeine helping to keep her energy up while the floppy candy served as the perfect prop to help her perform for her audience of none. She worked her way through Cats!, Phantom of the Opera, and West Side Story before her eyelids began to droop of their own accord and she started longing to be horizontal. 

The sun was just beginning to lick at the sky to the east when she pulled off the deserted Texas highway and into the parking lot of a church. She set her alarm but had the vague sense that she might sleep through it and hoped that the Baptists would take pity on her if she did. She hastily brushed her teeth using one of her bottles of water, splashed a little on her face, and yanked on a pair of clean-ish sweatpants from one of the trash bags. She wriggled down into Erik's musty old sleeping bag and was asleep almost the moment her head hit the pillow.

§

The Asset found the Mission's driving highly peculiar. He'd considered shooting out the tires of the vehicle and ending this strange chase at various points throughout the night but something had held him in check. Although there was clearly a destination in mind, there seemed to be no pre-determined path in reaching it and no thought given to efficiency or time conservation. The Mission drove leisurely, stopping often throughout the night for what appeared to be snacks and souvenirs. He could never get close enough without risking exposure to see inside the car, and the only occupant he'd seen so far was the Intern. 

Darcy Lewis, age 22, native of New York City. Unpaid assistant to the scientists.

When she parked the massive vehicle behind Antelope's First Baptist Church he'd kept driving, considering for one split second the possibility that she'd seen him and was waiting him out. He did a loop and returned to the church, parking on the other end of the lot. The car was still sitting there, and the early rays of morning light revealed to him that there was no driver in the front seat.

The Asset exhaled through flared nostrils, fighting back the stirrings of frustration. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly the leather began to creak in protest, and then, having resolved himself, he exited the Jetta.

He crossed the lot to the large truck and peered into the carriage through the rubbery windows in the canvas roof. Whatever was inside was distorted by the material but he could clearly make out at least one human-sized lump, apparently asleep, inside a sleeping bag.

Highly peculiar. Even for a scientist. The Asset did not appreciate the Mission behaving so unpredictably. He turned to his own car, planting himself in the back seat while he parsed through his options.

He could kill the Intern. But her behavior was indicative of someone on the run, and a nagging voice at the back of his mind kept asking, why is she running? From who? Or what? Had someone tipped her off that he was coming? That wasn't possible, and besides, she would not sleep in so visible and vulnerable a position if she knew she was being followed. Unless she was truly a babe in the woods, and had no idea how to run, how to hide.

He could kill her, he thought to himself. Right now. Easily. But the Asset did not approach her vehicle again, did not retrieve the pistol he'd placed in the glove compartment or fetch the rifle from the trunk. Instead he stayed where he was, slouching down so that he could not easily be seen by any passing cars, and kept his eyes trained on the window he'd peered through. He did not sleep.

§

The Chupacabra was a big fat bust. After two days of talking to locals in Hood County and camping out in the desolate, brush-filled desert on the outskirts of town, the lack of anything to show for it was almost enough to take the wind out of Darcy's sails. She'd seen a couple of sad, half-starved looking coyotes and so many armadillos she was pretty sure that starting an armadillo menagerie was a solid backup plan if this hare-brained scheme of hers didn't work out, but not a single vampiric bat-dog... thing.

She kept her eyes peeled, parking each night in the most remote places she could find as she made her way out of Texas and up through Arkansas, then back down south into Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama, but she never saw a single creature that matched the Chupacabra's description. Although she did talk to a nice waiter in a dusty, dilapidated diner in Tallulah, Louisiana who told her most Chupacabra sightings were actually just hyena-dog hybrids with parasites and the mange.

So much for magic.

She thought about turning back to New Mexico several times but driving through the Ozark mountains, in all their winding, secretive, spectacular glory, lifted her spirits and she decided to press on. She might have noticed once or twice that there always seemed to be a black Jetta on the road with her, but after driving for a few days it seemed like that was just the norm out on the highway. Sometimes people were headed in the same direction as you. Sometimes for minutes, sometimes for days. She liked to think of them as road buddies. She spotted that make and model about as often as she didn't, never really taking note of the license plate, so she chalked it up to the popularity of the car and didn't give it another thought.


	2. Altamaha-ha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The exact nature of the Altamaha-ha is as mysterious as the domain in which it lives. Some, of course, say it is nothing but floating logs, masses of vegetation or known marine creatures. Believers, however, tell of a 30-foot long animal with flippers like a seal."
> 
> ######  _[ExploreSouthernHistory.com](http://www.exploresouthernhistory.com/altamahaha.html) _

#### Darien, Georgia

The most notable location for sightings of the legendary Altamaha-ha, a Nessie-esque sea creature, was in the marshy waters surrounding Butler Island. Darcy hadn't given this much consideration as she made her way across Georgia but once she she saw the sign welcoming her to Darien, population 1800, doubt crept in as she wondered how exactly she was going to go about finding this creature. She followed the signs by car until she was as close as she could get to the river's mouth, then parked on a quiet dead end lane nearby. She pulled on her rain boots and tromped down through the reedy grass, standing on the riverbank so she could scope out the island. There she lingered, staring dejectedly at the vista. Above was an overpass where the traffic of Interstate 95, the massive highway that stretched the length of the eastern seaboard, could be seen racing past.

She took a moment to breathe in the briny air and listen to the tranquil susurrus of water flowing languidly towards the ocean, then returned to the truck. Jumping up onto the driver's seat, she turned over the engine and made her way back towards the center of Darien. Might as well find some grits or pecan pie or some other southern cliché, while she puzzled this one out.

§

The Asset knew there were large gaps in his memory. He knew he was a man, he knew he had lived a lot longer than the reflection in the mirror might lead him to think, he knew he was not born a cyborg with a weaponized left arm. He knew his mission parameters, and he knew he'd abandoned them somewhere in Mississippi. He remembered falling, he remembered a train, and he remembered the chair. That last one, he didn't think he could ever forget. There was a face too, fair hair falling over a noble forehead and bright blue eyes looking up at him...

Some things were coming back, the longer he drove. The longer he stayed out of the chair. Other things, they slipped through his fingers. Like clenching water in his fist, he'd catch something, and it would linger there in his mind for a time (minutes, maybe hours if he was lucky), then he'd blink, and it would be gone.

But he did know a few things, irreversibly. Unforgettably. He knew how to strip a firearm, he knew how to scale a building with his bare hands. He knew how to watch unobserved, how to follow undetected. He knew how to allow for wind, temperature, elevation and range when aiming a long-range rifle at something.

He knew how a person with a normal life, one with regularity and consistency, behaved. And he knew that this girl he was following? She was not behaving normally.

By the time they'd driven out of Texas, taking the very scenic route up through the Ozarks, he also knew that her associates were not with her. He'd watched her wander around each night, the single beam of her flashlight bouncing across the ghostly landscapes as she howled at the constellations above. He'd driven five cars behind her as she drove down out of Arkansas, south through Louisiana and into New Orleans, before moving on to the beaches of Pensacola. He suspected, keeping tabs on her from a snack stand as she waded into the rolling surf, that her associates would not be meeting her on this trip, although this suspicion could not be confirmed.

When he saw her hop out of the truck in a nowhere town on the coast of Georgia, walking down to the river just to stare at the unremarkable piece of land in its midst and sniff at the air, he ground his teeth and then laughed in spite of himself, finally letting go of his expectations. He decided then and there that he'd made the right choice by not going back for the scientists. Scientists could be somewhat erratic, in his experience, but there was a method to their madness. This girl's madness was new to him, and he couldn't quite bring himself to end it. She was looking for something, he could gather that much. What that was he could not say, but he could no longer stomach the idea of not finding out.

§

Darcy drove around the orderly, manicured streets of Darien for a while as she contemplated, then ended up back by the river again, sitting at a small table on the patio of a restaurant with a plate full of fried shrimp in front of her. She took a sip of her lemonade, coughing slightly at its sweetness. She looked out through the knobby, outstretched branches of the surrounding oak trees, dripping with silvery-green leaves, and considered the river. Her waitress came by to check on her and after hesitating a moment, she asked, “Hey, um, if someone wanted to go visit Butler Island, how would they do that?”

“Easy, sugar,” replied the harried-looking woman, pointing upriver, “Just rent a kayak. You can pick 'em up anywhere 'long the coast that-a-way.” She placed a refill lemonade on the table, taking the one Darcy hadn't even realized she'd finished, and rushed off.

Walking up the road once she'd finished, she quickly realized that yeah, duh, it was lined with boat and camping rental shops. She ducked into the first one she passed, hastily filling out the form and paying the clerk, then thanked the man as he carried the lightweight, one-person ocean kayak out to the water. She grabbed her gear from the Pinz, pausing momentarily to consider her taser then deciding against it, and shoved it in the storage capsule towards the front, gingerly lowered herself onto the seat, taking a minute to get comfortable and acquaint herself with the map they'd handed her. Fortified by her minor victory, she picked up the double-sided oar and began rowing out towards the island.

Darcy spent the long and hellish night on the beach where she'd landed. She'd explored the island's interior, found only a plantation museum where she'd meandered for a few hours, then returned to the strand with the hopes that dusk would bring out the supernatural. Despite taking a few nocturnal jaunts up and down the river, all she'd gotten for her trouble was a bra full of sand, two dozen mosquito bites, and a stiff neck, so she was in a foul mood by the time the sun finally rose and she could row herself back to town.

There was something else bothering her, too. It was the strangest thing, and she wanted it to be connected to the Altamaha-ha creature, but she suspected it had a far more rational origin. Throughout the night, Darcy couldn't quite shake the feeling she was being watched. It creeped her the hell out and she'd foregone returning to the island several hours before the layered chirping and growling of the rural Georgian night had abated, curling up in her sleeping bag in the wide, low seat of the kayak to wait for daybreak.

She just wasn't one for camping, that's all. Especially when she felt so exposed, breathing in the murky brackish air all night, supplied with only a sleeping bag, a flashlight, and a box of Cheez-Its to keep her company.

§

#### Comfort, North Carolina, somewhere along NC-41

The Asset had an entire night's vigil to deliberate on whether he should keep following this daffy girl, after he'd settled himself in the tall riverside grass. He might not know what was happening here, what she was looking for, but he wanted her to find it, whatever it was, if she could. He'd had long enough to think about it, and at some point during their passage through South Carolina he'd arrived at the decision that he was done with HYDRA, he wasn't going back, but... still he followed her. Not even with a gun to his head would he have admitted his real reason: there was something in her strange quest that haunted him. Her determination reminded him of someone from his past, someone he'd spent time protecting. A brother, perhaps, or a friend... trusting, blue eyes...

He was keeping a safe distance as they crossed the state line from South to North Carolina; she exited Interstate 95 onto a small state highway headed west and he tagged after her, hoping she'd find a campground soon as he hadn't slept in days and even he had his limits.

When the creature appeared, the late afternoon shade of the tree-laned highway obscured its features; all he could see was a large black animal, pointy ears, four legs and a long, swishing tail. It was crazy even to think it but by the silhouette he might have guessed that it was a black panther. It lingered in front of her oncoming car, illuminated by her headlights for half a second, and its pupils flashed an eerie, glowing green before it turned its head, and slinked back into the trees.

The girl braked so hard he could hear the angry screeching from his own car, and she careened wildly from their side of the road to the other. The lonely little highway was empty, so only the Asset bore witness as she over-corrected, this time too far off the road to their right, the tall vehicle swinging over the rumble strip and lurching down the roadside hill then crashing anti-climatically, silently, into a draped web of Kudzu vine connecting two maple trees.

He pulled over, waiting silently, but ten minutes passed without the girl turning off the engine, which revved uselessly, or opening her door. The Asset took that time to consider the ramifications of what he was about to do, accepted them, then turned the key in the ignition and got out of his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
>  Bonus cryptid (maybe): [Appalachian Black Panther/Cougar](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_panther#Cougar)   
> 


	3. Hoop Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When stretched out the hoop snake was about ten to fifteen feet long and resembled an ordinary black snake common to these areas; however, it had a unique means of locomotion. When pursuing its prey the hoop snake would take its tail into its mouth and stiffening its body, roll across the desert like a bicycle tire.”
> 
> ######  _Encyclopedia of Beasts and Monsters in Myth, Legend and Folklore_ , Theresa Bane

#### Comfort, North Carolina, somewhere along NC-41

The Asset approached the Pinzgauer leerily, straining to hear any signs of life as he pressed his ear to the passenger door. He was met with only the whooping of the whip-poor-wills, the droning hum of cicadas, and the engine's low, grinding growl. He huffed decisively, and tried the handle. It opened without resistance and the Asset climbed in, turning the key and examining the girl.

She was slumped over the steering wheel, and when he pushed her torso back so she was sitting upright, he discovered a dried stream of blood crusted down her face, splattered across the front of her t-shirt. It came from her nose. Tenderly, taking care not to rouse her, he used the sensitive fingers of his mechanized left hand to seek a pulse and finding one, he probed gently at her nose. Not broken, he determined. He ran his hand along her arms, down her chest, along her hips, feeling for possible fractures. She was breathing evenly and he could feel no breaks anywhere, despite the pressure the seat beat must have exerted on impact. She was only wearing the lower strap, the one that should have crossed her chest stretched uselessly across the seat behind her. He also noticed that no airbag had deployed. She was lucky. Damned lucky.

He sighed shakily, nervously, and indulged in the opportunity to study her more closely than he'd previously been able to. She was comely, curvaceous but toned, and her strong nose (despite its bloody emissions), plush lips and long, thick eyelashes gave her a distinctive, sensuous beauty. He peered into the back of the truck, and catching sight of a water bottle, crawled between the seats to grab it. He yanked his shirt over his head, pouring water onto one corner then dabbing at her face until it was clean. Still she did not wake. He sighed again, with determination this time, and pulled his shirt back on.

He clambered back up to the road and scanned the horizon in both directions. Not a soul, no cars and no strange animals, nothing but evening settling in quickly all around them. He returned to his car, grabbing the rope and the zip-ties from the trunk and ambling back down to the Pinzgauer. He lowered himself to his belly and attached the ties to the hulking vehicle's frame, then the rope to the ties. He took a step back when he was finished, and surveyed the position it had settled at relative to the road. He approached the driver's side, checking on the still unconscious girl. Painstakingly, with great care, he opened the door and slid his arms behind her back and under her knees, lifting her then lowering her onto the mossy undergrowth several yards away. He returned to his crude towline, and turning towards the road, he dug his booted feet deep into the dark soil and leaned his entire body forward. Then he began to pull.

§

#### Washington D.C. 

Pierce considered the man before him with a moue of dissatisfaction. He was pleased when Rumlow shifted his weight from one leg to the other uneasily, then cleared his throat. Good. Let him squirm.

“So he hasn't sent a mission report in over a week? What about the trackers in the car and the gear?” Pierce asked, glancing at the documents on his desk then returning his focus to the agent in front of him. He'd think about the potential Arctic discovery later.

“Dumped, sir. Found in a rest stop in South Carolina.”

“How long have they been there? How far could he have gone? Set up a perimeter, I don't care if it's the whole damn state, set it up and comb it. Thoroughly.”

Rumlow fidgeted again. “We're doing that now, sir. But... according to his handlers, the sensors have been there for a while. They thought he was doing reconnaissance until one noticed he hadn't moved from his location near the dumpster in three days. We've set agents on the major highways and we're combing all the security footage we can get our hands on but if he switches cars, or takes the back roads...”

Pierce's eyes narrowed. “Enough. I don't want to hear any bullshit excuses, Rumlow. The Asset cannot be allowed to roam unchecked for this long. I don't care what it takes, find him. In the meantime... send someone else to do the job in New Mexico.”

“Yes sir,” the agent responded hastily, regaining his confidence as he processed the directives, “Anyone in particular?”

The older man sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don't care. Someone who can get it done quickly, and quietly. Someone capable.”

“Understood.” Rumlow nodded, then pivoted and marched from the room, yearning to find the Asset and beat him senseless for this shitstorm before he stuffed that dinosaur back into his ice coffin. 

§

#### Wake Forest, North Carolina

“It was the craziest thing, I swear,” Darcy's tinny voice rang out from where Erik had placed the phone, set to speaker mode, on his desk. He and Jane exchanged dubious looks.

“I don't understand. You saw a... black jaguar? In North Carolina?” Jane asked slowly, fiddling with a broken piece of equipment as she spoke.

“Not that part, Jane, focus!” Darcy cried. “I mean, yes. Something definitely ran out in front of my car which was also crazy, especially because yeah, it looked like a big wildcat. I don't know. Maybe it escaped from the local zoo or something. But that is _not_ the crazy part of the story, you guys, admit it.” Darcy settled deeper into the mountain of pillows she'd made in her motel bed, and sighed. “I crashed the Pinzgauer in a ditch beside the road, and when I woke up I was parked at a rest stop, at least ten miles away. That is just... what even is that? How could that have happened?” She rubbed the stiff, scratchy towel through her wet hair, then threw it across the room, where it landed on the room's single desk chair.

Erik rubbed his face, heaving a dramatic sigh. “Darcy. Are you alright? Is my poor Pinz alright?"

"Everything's fine, Erik! I was even wearing my seat-belt like a good little automobile operator, and I called Triple A, they towed me to an auto shop and Bobby was good as new in under an hour."

He leaned forward in his chair, frowning at the phone. "Bob... Did you name my strictly utilitarian, all-terrain vehicle? No, let's move past it. Look at this logically, Darcy. You've been driving for days. You said yourself that last night was taxing, and that you barely slept. We're probably looking at a combination of highway hypnosis and exhaustion. Nothing more. To be honest, I'm more intrigued by the creature you saw. You should really contact the local authorities, make sure animal control knows.”

Darcy groaned with exasperation. “Yeah yeah, I will. But... come on! The blood? On my shirt? My nose hurts like a mothertrucker, my shirt is ruined, but when I woke up my face was clean as a whistle! My ribs are totally bruised up too. Explain all that to me, please.”

“We can't,” Jane conceded. “My best guess is that you were in a fugue state and crashed, but not how you remember. Maybe at the rest stop, and then you passed after and dreamed the cat and the ditch? I don't know. It _is_ strange, though. And... what about the, uh, Alakazam?”

"Altamaha-ha. Total bust, just like the Chupacabra. The nice men at the boat rental place told me that apparently the town was founded by Scotsmen who brought their beloved loch monster stories with them when they crossed the pond. So I'm taking a night off, living it up in the finest accommodations Wake Forest has to offer, aka the luxurious Super 8 Motel. Contain your jealousy friends, if you can. Tomorrow I'll get back to work. After all, I have a hoop snake to find.”

Amused, Erik answered, “Alright then. Rest up, Darcy, and please don't push yourself so hard. Take more breaks while driving, ja? There's no need to run yourself down. And good luck with your... snake. This one, at least, I could conceive of being real.”

Darcy snorted, said goodnight to her friends, and ended the call. She hoisted herself up out of her pillows and crossed the motel room to the tiny bathroom, poking at the slight bump on the bridge of her nose and faint bruising along her cheekbones, then pulling up her shirt to take stock of the further discoloration along her ribs and hips.

“I don't care what they say,” she told her reflection, “That was not exhaustion. I know what I saw, I know where I crashed, and I know I was not in a fugue state.”

There was nothing else to it. She wasn't just hunting cryptids anymore; Darcy had a full-blown mystery on her hands.

§

After all the miles they'd traveled together, all the odd things she'd done that had almost thrown him... he'd lost her to a Walmart. She'd been in there for thirty-five minutes, and the Asset's paranoia was hissing all sorts of scenarios in his ear, ones where she'd figured out that he'd pulled her truck back up onto the road and towed her to that rest stop. Where she knew he'd touched her, cleaned her face, felt her up for injuries. Where she'd discovered the tracking device he'd bought at a sketchy tech shop back in Georgia, then attached to her rear axle two nights ago so he could follow her from a more discrete distance. Where she'd ditched her vehicle and wired another car, slipping from his grasp with him none the wiser. Or maybe where she'd contacted the authorities from inside the store, where HYDRA's STRIKE team was at this very moment assembling to bring him in.

No. The Asset sighed. He considered his earlier perusal of her car, which had told him mostly that she was ill-prepared to do this much camping, especially as the temperature continued to dip while they moved farther north, and that she had an entire trash bag full of books about folk lore. She was strange, a compelling mystery to be sure, but nothing in her scant belongings or her actions so far suggested she was devious or crafty. Still... he would not be entering that store. Not even to find the girl. He'd be recorded on several cameras, for one thing. Big stores like that always had security, that much he'd been warned about by his handlers. For another, there would be saccharine modern music playing. It would be awful. There would be overly bright neon lighting and employees who would smile at him, try to speak to him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to a human being for any reason other than pure necessity, colorless exchanges of required information. The thought of someone being polite to him made his palms sweat, and he licked his lips nervously.

Come on, Darcy, he thought. Don't make me go in there, doll, please.

As if she had received his silent plea and chosen to have mercy on him, the girl burst out of the store's sliding doors, arms full with two stuffed plastic bags. She waltzed across the crowded parking lot, awkwardly transferring the bags to one hand as she unlocked the back door, then blithely hurled them both inside. She climbed up into the car then steered her way out of the parking lot, and if the Asset was not mistaken, she was singing along to something as she turned onto the highway headed south.

He started up the Jetta and followed after ten minutes. They drove for about two hours along a lonely, pot-hole ridden back road before her moving dot on his prepaid cellphone turned onto an even smaller road. When he arrived at it himself, it was marked Uwharrie National Forest. Back to sleeping in the wilderness, he thought resignedly.

He paid for a spot and parked behind a particularly ostentatious double-wide RV. Five minutes later he was watching from the window of the men's public facilities as she sprung from the back of the car, decked out in hiking boots and an overstuffed backpack. She was carrying a cylindrical, neon orange bag, the contents of which he could not discern. Cheerfully, singing something under her breath, she started off on one of the marked hiking trails. 

The Asset stewed for another half a minute as he watched her dark waves and shapely silhouette disappear then reappear between the pines, moving away from him with each step into the surrounding woods. Cursing lowly in the crudest Russian he could summon, he abandoned the building and marched to his car, ducking into the trunk to pull a slouchy hoodie over the Kevlar vest and simple long-sleeved tee he'd been wearing, then made his way briskly but with a deceptively relaxed posture towards the path he'd seen her take.

§

Darcy was ready to wait out this damn hoop snake for as long as it took. She'd charged her camera battery at the motel, she'd bought a folding chair and at least 24 hours worth of junk food at the biggest Ultra Super Walmart in Wake County, and she'd brought a wool blanket for the inevitable chill once darkness fell. She followed the trail for about an hour then deviated slightly, making her way slowly through the dense brush until she reached what looked like a natural, untrampled clearing. She pulled the chair from its bag and opened it dead center, shoving its thin metal frame deeply into the sod, then parked herself. Folding her legs under her, she curled up in the chair then opened up her backpack and pulled out one of her many cryptid reference books, a pen, a notebook, and a can of peanuts. Might as well do some research to fill the time until this thing made its presence known.

She was going to see something spectacular tonight, she just knew it. Darcy had a good feeling about this one.

§

The Asset found a dense copse of hickory trees on the outer edge of the dell where Darcy sat, and stayed crouched there, barely moving, watching her read and jot down notes for a few hours. After, she pulled out what looked to be some kind of colorful children's book (he made a note to find out who Harry Potter was, at some point). She spent the rest of the afternoon completely engrossed in the novel. When the sun set and the nocturnal forest occupants began to sing out in a rancorous chorus all around them, he tensed, preparing to follow her back to the RV camping area. But still she stayed, eventually reaching into her bag to pull out a LED lantern which she turned on and placed on the ground by her feet. Armed with her high-powered flashlight, which she occasionally shone into the looming, lightless foliage when an animal called out or something rustled in the leaves, she otherwise remained motionless. Waiting.

He should have realized he was exhausted, that he was not operating at peak condition. Some time around three am he stood, stiffly stretching his complaining joints, then backed noiselessly away from the clearing so he could relieve himself. As he was creeping back, he made one wrong step and the twig he'd stepped on cracked so loudly in the whispering lull of early morning that he imagined Alexander Pierce could hear it all the way in D.C. Just like that, the flashlight's light flared, dancing for a moment near his earlier hiding spot before landing on him. The Asset had the presence of mind to turn his back to the light, but couldn't move quickly enough to escape illumination.

“Hello? Who's there? I see you! Who are you?” a thin, panicked voice cried out tremulously.

I'm James, he thought, then froze. He was? Since... when? Since always, he realized, awareness dawning within him. That's my name, chump. He staggered, the revelation throwing his sense of balance as vivid images bloomed inside his mind: a brownstone on a quiet city block, a mother's face smiling at him, a thin little boy named Steve proudly showing off his baseball cards, a Sunday dinner with three younger sisters and a stern, newspaper-reading man. An entire childhood unfurled before his eyes, in the space of a second.

“Why are you following me?!” the voice shrieked. James flinched, trying to ground himself here in the present, then took off. He could hear her stumbling through the bushes behind him, but he was faster and stronger and shaking her barely took any work, just some serpentine trail-blazing and a well-timed leap up onto the branch of a massive oak tree. She darted past it, panting loudly, then doubled back a few minutes later, her flashlight whirling in every direction. Finding nothing, she returned to her chair. James clung to his perch, listening, and sure enough, within seconds he heard her throwing her things into her pack and jogging away towards the campsite.

He didn't come down from the tree for another hour, paralyzed by the life he suddenly remembered. When he did, the Pinzgauer was gone. He returned to his own car, collapsing into the driver's seat. He started the car, checking the phone to see which way she'd gone. Though his muscles ached terribly, crying out for rest, his mind recoiled at the idea of sleep. He couldn't even if he'd wanted to. He was consumed by the simple fact of his own identity.

His names was James Buchanan Barnes. He'd had a family, might still have one. He had a friend named Steve. And Darcy Lewis had seen him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bobby... Pinz... [I'll show myself out.]


	4. Mothman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Keel became the major chronicler of the Mothman case and wrote that at least 100 people personally witnessed the creature between November 1966 and November 1967. According to their reports, the creature stood between five and seven feet tall, was wider than a man and shuffled on human-like legs. Its eyes were set near the top of the shoulders and it had bat-like wings that glided, rather than flapped, when it flew. Strangely though, it was able to ascend straight up “like a helicopter”. Witnesses also described its murky skin as being either gray or brown and it emitted a humming sound when it flew. The Mothman was apparently incapable of speech and gave off a screeching sound."
> 
> ######  _[PrairieGhosts.com, "Mothman: The Enigma of Point Pleasant"](https://www.prairieghosts.com/moth.html) _

#### Point Pleasant, West Virginia

On the dim, foggy outskirts of town, in a grimy little dive called Harry's, Darcy was doing her damnedest to enjoy her whiskey and coke inconspicuously. She'd driven straight through the bustling city center without stopping, bypassing all of the nice, well-maintained chain motels, all of the family-friendly bar and grills to instead rent a room at the fleabag motel down the road from Harry's. She wasn't in the mood for comfort or security, bright lights or smoke-free rooms.

Darcy Lewis had a stalker.

Or something. 

She wasn't really sure. 

But she a pretty good hunch that the spine-tingling, hair-raising unease she'd felt in Georgia, the sense that she was being watched while swimming in the Gulf of Mexico, all of the jitteriness she'd been feeling on the road, all of it was not baseless and not unrelated. She'd driven all night to get to Point Pleasant, stopping only to nap for a few hours in the parking lot of a Burger King once the early afternoon sun blazed high above and the tightly wound fear inside of her finally started to unravel.

But now. Darcy had a flare gun in her back pack, and her tazer. She was ready. She was five drinks in and she'd been sitting in the corner of this smoke-filled, neon-lit dump for two hours, scrutinizing all of the men who came and went. Any one of them could be him, she thought blearily.

No, Darcy, that's not right. Think about what he looked like. What, his tight butt? She snorted into her glass and glanced up furtively to see if anyone had noticed. No one seemed to be paying her any attention, except the bartender, who she had seen craning his head in her direction every so often, obviously checking on her well-being.

Probably 'cause she was the only woman in this bar.

This was a stupid idea.

She was drunk.

So stupid.

No! Think, Lewis. He was tall. She scanned the room with glassy, unfocused eyes. There were about a dozen men, not counting the bartender. Two were too short, four were way too heavyset, one was bald, and three were, like, literally the oldest men she'd ever seen. Had they been mining coal when West Virginia entered the Union? They looked like it, she decided, and snorted again.

This was a stupid idea. Her older sisters, Caroline, Anne, and Elinor (stupid mom with her stupid Jane Austen obsession), had always teased her for having more guts than brains. They had been right all along, and now she was drunk in a dodgy bar in a tiny town in Appalachia, which was so very far from everyone who loved her or even knew her and there was not a single woman around and...

Just then, the easy, free-wheeling atmosphere of the place dissipated, and tension crackled through the air like static electricity, interrupting her pity party. The booming country music dropped out and Darcy noticed one of the two potential candidates for Darcy Lewis Stalker puffing his chest out, jabbing his pointer finger angrily at a bald guy over by the pool table. His hair wasn't right though, she thought absently as she looked around at the other men, who had all stopped talking to watch the argument. He had a crew cut, and her midnight marauder had worn his dark hair in a short, stubby knot at his neck.

That left one guy. The only one paying no attention to the fight, hunched over the bar and looking nowhere except at the beer in front of him, which he had not touched since ordering it when he'd walked in, thirty minutes ago. He was not facing her, so Darcy stared at his profile meditatively. He was big, definitely over six feet fall, and although he was wearing a dark jacket and dark jeans she could tell by the definition of his biceps through the sleeves, the way his pants stretched across his thighs, that he was jacked. He was wearing a baseball cap, and she couldn't see his hair, which made it hard to know for sure one way or another. His face was good, though. What she could see of it. Sharp jawline covered in stubble, high cheekbones, wide eyes, and a straight, proud nose.

What are you doing? That guy could literally be your peeping tom, stop leching on him!

The rising cacophony of angry voices pulled her from her study, and she turned back to the two men at the pool table to find that now almost every man but the three Methuselahs had gotten involved, and things were getting heated. The gathering crowd around Buzz Cut and Baldie meant that she couldn't see when the first punch was thrown, but she heard it clearly, and then there was just pure chaos. Men were grappling on the pool table, the bartender was holding a rifle he'd procured from seemingly nowhere, one man was thrown across the bar and promptly headbutted by said rifle, one of the beefy guys crashed into the chair next to hers and ogled her from the floor, seemingly bewildered from the blow he'd just received.

Like a deer in the headlights, she stared back at him, then shrieked when he reached for her. Before she could even strike at the hand around her calf there was another, stronger hand grasping her arm and pulling her from the chair. The man on the floor let go of her without a fight, and she looked up at the man who was dragging her towards the exit. Baseball cap guy.

Please don't be my stalker, she thought.

Outside, she shook her head in an attempt to clear the buzz she'd been relaxing into and the cool, early-autumn breeze sobered her slightly. She tried to get her footing, but he kept marching, still tugging her along although she could barely keep up with his long stride or fast pace.

“Okay, okay!” she cried, when they'd walked about fifteen feet down the road in the direction of her motel. He released her immediately, taking a step back and clenching his hands as though trying to restrain himself from something. “Uh... Thanks, I think, for getting me out of there. That was... that was bad. This was, uh, this was... not a good choice. I should go to sleep now. So...”

She swayed for a moment, then teetered unsteadily in the direction they had been heading. Suddenly he was back, closer this time, and she could smell him. He smelled like hotel soap, a little bit like campfire, like pine sap, and underneath all of that, something musky, like dried sweat. It was... masculine. It wasn't bad, actually. She leaned in until her nose grazed the ribbed material of his shirt, then inhaled. He pushed her away gently, slouching down so that he could peer searchingly into her eyes.

“There's somebody following me,” she mumbled, her words slurring slightly, and then she leaned away from him, retching. Her stomach clenched violently and a wave of vomit followed but tall, dark, and handsome stayed, one hand gripping her backpack to keep her anchored while the other gently held her hair back from her face. When it was finished, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and straightened. “Sorry. Gross.”

He cleared his throat, but his deep voice was still hoarse. “If there's someone following you, why were you in there? Why're you drinkin' like this?”

She giggled a little, but it stuck in her throat when she saw how serious he was, how intensely he was watching her. “To catch a shadow, you must _become_ a shadow,” she intoned lightly, cracking a crooked grin as her eyebrows danced mischievously.

“That's stupid. And unsafe.”

“Ha!” she said, pointing her finger to the sky, “What you fail to realize, my good sir, is that Stupid and Unsafe are my middle names. Yes. I was gifted with two, because my parents truly love me. So there. It's not my fault, it's destiny. I'm just living up to my names!” She had backed away from him as she spoke, and realizing she was now standing on the asphalt in the middle of the right-hand lane, she stumbled back to the side of the road.

“Where are you staying?” He paced towards her, and grabbed her by the shoulders just in time to catch her when she lurched forward. She pointed through a dark thicket of trees, towards the lights of the motel and he nodded, not releasing his hold as he half-carried, half-walked her there. When they arrived at her door, he held out his gloved hand, and, still leaning all of her weight on him, she giggled again, then handed him the key. He opened the door, removed her bag from her shoulders, and helped her ease herself down onto the lumpy bed before turning on the nightstand lamp. He backed away, peering around the room uneasily as he jammed both gloved hands in his pockets.

“You've got to... You ought to be more careful, miss.” She nodded, her eyes already sliding closed. She felt him take off her boots, heard him place them by the door. She groaned softly when he eased her up so that he could pull the ratty comforter off the bed, then shift the sheets out from under her, before tucking her in.

“Somebody's following me,” she repeated, sluggishly.

She just barely heard his answer, was already crossing over into drunken sopor by the time he cleared his throat once more, and murmured, “No one's going to hurt you.”

By morning she'd forgotten his face, and only barely remembered the feel of strong, thick arms holding her as she stumbled through the shadows towards brightly lit safety.

§

#### Puente Antiguo, New Mexico

Even in the cool early hours of dawn, Jack Rollins found the stifling, arid heat of New Mexico unbearable. Things got a little bit better as he drove up into the mountains, towards Puente Antiguo, but his fingers still drifted towards the console, turning the temperature of the car down a couple more degrees. Tactical gear, leather, and the desert did not mix well.

He was at the old diner within an hour after landing. He parked in front and groaned when he saw no Pinzgauer around, no sign of life within. The place was unlocked so he let himself in and surveyed the barren desks and empty shelves with dismay. Gone. Shit.

He turned at the sound of footsteps, side-eyeing the suited blonde woman who had slipped in through the door he'd left ajar. She was obviously SHIELD, and he'd bet his last dollar that she was one of Coulson's. It would be just his luck, Jack thought with a sigh. He hated sneaky spy shit. He knew what he was, and what he wasn't: he wasn't sly, he didn't do subterfuge. He was a blunt instrument, and he was best used for fast, forceful attacks. And now he was going to have to dance with one of Coulson's favorites? Just when he thought this intolerable day couldn't get any worst.

“I know you,” she said quietly, coming to stand in front of him, “You're STRIKE team. I've seen you around the Triskelion. What're you doing out here? This is just an Observe and Report.”

His mind wheeled frantically. He hadn't expected to encounter an empty office, hadn't expected to have to lie. He was woefully unprepared for this. “Yeah, well, we haven't heard anything from you in 24 hours, so I was sent out to make sure there wasn't another extraterrestrial attack.”

She arched an eyebrow skeptically. He recognized her as well. Agent... Carlson. Or something. He couldn't quite remember. “Alone?” She followed his gaze to the empty desks. “They left two days ago. Their emails indicated they've received a research grant and offices to work out of a university in northern Norway. Most of our team has already followed them there. Which was... all in my last report.” She turned to him, her face hardening into grim suspicion.

“Fury wanted me to make sure you hadn't been compromised,” he bluffed. God damn it, this was really not his specialty.

“Alone,” she reaffirmed, even more quietly this time. “And if there had been another threat from Asgard? What was one more agent going to do? Guns didn't get us very far last time, in case you forgot.”

“Uh, yeah,” he turned back to her. “I left the rocket launcher in the car. Thought I'd get the lay of the land first. But it looks like you've got it under control, so... I'd better go call it in to Fury.” He was backing towards the entrance, holstering the pistol he'd been holding.

“You do that,” she responded flatly. She watched him skulk out to his sedan, throwing a dark look her way before he started it up and raced off in the direction of the small town. She waited until the dust kicked up by his tires had completely settled before she picked up her cellphone, and dialed Coulson's number.

Something definitely wasn't right here.

§

#### Point Pleasant, West Virginia

Darcy didn't have high hopes for the Mothman. If she hadn't seen a sea monster while by the sea nor a snake while in the forest, what chance was there of actually spotting a man... bird... demon in an old logging town?

She was standing on a sidewalk in downtown Point Pleasant, face-to-face with a grotesque bronzed statue of the creature. It was a man, or at least, a two-legged humanoid, but the head was that of a warped and demonic bird, its oversized black eyes beady and soulless. Its fingers were extended into sharp talons and its ornately tattered wings definitely emulated those of its namesake. She shuddered. Gross.

This was one cryptid she wouldn't mind being a hoax, she reflected, as she shuffled towards a brightly-colored coffee shop with high hopes of finding a breakfast big enough to absorb the hangover that was currently kicking her ass.

§

James huffed in amusement as he watched Darcy stare up confrontationally at the nightmarish statue of the Mothman, then returned to his breakfast. He finished the protein bar efficiently, mindlessly, then picked up the dogeared reference book in his lap.

He'd had enough of the following her blindly, so after she'd passed out in her bed last night he'd grabbed the top book from the stack on her dresser, locked her in, then climbed out her bathroom window. After the crash, he'd only glimpsed at the library she was accumulating in her vehicle but skimming through the book now, he realized that she had deliberately marked up the pages of famous beasts whose reported homes were places they'd traveled to. So. She was hunting fairy tales. Some of the strange things she'd been doing began to click into place for him, making their own bizarre sort of sense.

It was still highly possible, he conceded as he sipped his coffee, that this dame was off her rocker.

He opened to one of the folded pages whose margins were littered with notes. The chapter was titled “The Mothman”. He checked the cafe, and through its front window he could see Darcy ravaging an immense stack of pancakes, so he returned to the page in front of him and began to read.

§

That night she didn't go out into the forested hills around them, just drove in ever-wider loops around the valley. He waited at the motel, following her path on his phone and wondering why she didn't go directly to the abandoned WWII munitions plant that was rumored to be the creature's lair. When she parked down by the Ohio River, he jumped in the Jetta and drove the five minutes across town, then left his own car on a dark side street nearby. At the edge of his vision he caught her unmistakable figure meandering out onto the Silver Bridge's pedestrian path, and he made to follow. James lurked in the shadows of the thick suspender cables, keeping at least thirty feet between them as she stopped in the middle of the bridge. He watched her lean against the railing, gazing out at the water and then to their right, at the lights of the little town sprawled before them. He wondered if she actually expected to see the Mothman up here.

“I know you're out there,” she said, calmly. James smirked. He didn't think make-believe creatures usually responded to taunts.

“I think you've been following me for a while now,” she continued. He startled, pulling back deeper into the darkness. “I've felt you watching me. I can feel your eyes on me now. I've been thinking about it all day, and I have to ask... what do you want? If you were gonna do something to me, you've had plenty of chances. So what are you waiting for?”

James didn't move, didn't breathe. She couldn't know he was here with her, it wasn't possible.

“I think you helped me last night. I... I appreciate that. But you should know... I have a tazer. And... I know... karate! And I have a gun! Sort of,” she muttered the last part under breath, although James heard her perfectly anyway. She was still facing the town, still shouting out into the sharp, twisting wind rising up off the river. Anyone passing by might have taken her for a lunatic.

He said nothing. She didn't speak to him again, just sniffed stubbornly and leaned farther over the railing to watch the dark water rush past the bridge's base down below. James moved away from her then, left her there on the bridge and returned to the motel.

So she knew after all, he reasoned. Or suspected. It didn't mean he couldn't keep her safe. This monster hunt of hers... her purpose could be his purpose, for a little while. She had to know he wouldn't hurt her, didn't wish her harm. He just needed... time.

He needed time.

He'd keep her safe, and he'd fill in the gaps in his memory. At long last, a worthwhile mission.


	5. Snallygaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When French American explorer Paul de Chaillu returned from a trip to the Congo in 1856 and described his encounter there with a hairy giant that stood “nearly six feet high, with an immense body, huge chest and muscular arms,” scientists laughed at him. We now know that Chaillu was the first white man to see a gorilla. “Gorillas did not exist in 1856,” Chaplin argued, “simply because the desk-bound scientists of London and Paris said they did not exist. Snallygasters do not exist in 1976 for precisely the same reason.”
> 
> ######  Snallygaster: The Lost Legend of Frederick County, Patrick Boyton

#### Ravenswood, West Virginia, somewhere along WV Route 2

James stepped back to consider the destruction he'd just finished inflicting upon the Jetta with his robotic left arm. The hood was irreparably dented, the front bumper had been torn from the car and hurled carelessly into the adjacent field, the front windshield was shattered, most of it now laid in slivers along the dashboard.

It would be very easy for someone to believe that he'd been in an accident, if they were looking at it through their rear-view mirror.

He checked his phone. Darcy was still stopped at a Dunkin' Donuts up the road, but presumably she'd drive past in the next five minutes. He shoved his things into the duffel bag he'd bought that morning, and leaned against the trunk of his car, waiting. This was a nice stretch of highway; rolling farmland dotted with grazing cows stretched from the road down to the Ohio river in front of him and the flint-faced, sylvan peaks of Appalachia soared up at his back. Autumn was coming, he could tell, and there was the faintest hint of yellow cropping up here and there amidst the spruces and white ash trees that blanketed the pikes. He was glad he'd gotten to see the mountains at least once in his life, remembered his father telling him that some distant branch of their family had ended up in West Virginia. It was still a foreign sensation for him, the ability to recall details like that. He couldn't remember much past his adolescence but he was optimistic that the rest of it would come back to him, with time.

He glanced at his phone again, and pushed off the car, pacing its length to stand at the front and reach out his gloved hand, thumb extended. Right on schedule, the Pinzgauer came around the bend, and he could see her there at the wheel, singing in-between sips of what looked like a monstrously large milkshake. He clocked the moment she spotted him as well, her expression shifting from carefree to clouded. The vehicle passed him, and for a moment he wondered what he'd do if this plan didn't work, but then it began to decelerate and pull over to the side of the road, about fifty feet away. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, threw the bag's strap over his head, and strode towards her.

§

On the road out of Point Pleasant, Darcy snickered at the idea of the Mothman. So that one might have been a stretch, even by her newly broadened definition of what was real and what wasn't. It was just as likely to have been a gang of hillbillies drunk on bad moonshine who saw an albino owl killing a lizard and decided to cook up a fun campfire story.

And anyway, the Mothman was no match for her Midnight Man. He was the real cryptid now. He'd followed her into the woods at Uwharrie, and she conjectured he might have been the one to get her out of Harry's when things went sideways. Although she had no way of proving it, her gut was screaming he'd been on Silver Bridge last night, and the one watching her on Butler Island, the one she'd sensed back in Pensacola. Darcy had given it a lot of thought after returning to her shabby motel room last night, and she'd come up with the only logical explanation: SHIELD was tracking her.

It made sense, really. They'd elbowed themselves into Jane's business when Thor had landed, why wouldn't they stick around and try to control things? Why not send an agent after her, just on the off chance she said something she shouldn't to somebody who might believe her? She had to believe, if this was really the case, that the Midnight Man was not there to hurt her. That just didn't strike her as SHIELD's MO, and he hadn't done anything to her so far. But he also hadn't accepted her challenge to show himself on the bridge, and frankly, she was getting a little tired of feeling so on edge, so skittish all of the time. She was supposed to be the hunter on this trip, not the hunted.

Darcy chewed on the straw of her mocha Coolatta as she climbed up into the Pinz then navigated back towards WV Route 2, headed east. She flicked through the radio stations for a minute until she landed on Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody". Not one to reject the world's greatest karaoke song, she turned up the volume and belted out, “He's just a poor boy from a poor family, spare him his life from this monstrosity!” She punched her drink in the air for emphasis, taking a deep breath to prepare for the dramatic Bismallah refrain, but went silent instead. Up ahead, she'd spotted a destroyed black Volkswagen Jetta by the side of the road. It was the man slouching in front of the car who left her speechless, and she felt a chill pass through her. That hair, those shoulders, the baseball cap...

Before she could talk herself out of it, she downshifted gears and stopped to wait for him. When he pulled himself up into the passenger seat, she gave him a little wave, then led off with, “Hi. I have a tazer. And a flare gun. And I know some very tough people. I'm pretty tough, too. I once tazed a guy just because he was acting weird, like, just kind of aggressive. Just so you know.”

He tilted his head, his brows drawing together, and she sighed. Extending her hand for him to shake, she said, “I'm Darcy. And you are...?”

“James.” His deep, gravelly voice was a lot sexier than what she'd expected, and her eyes danced over his body before returning to his face. He was bearded, and his expression was hard to read, but his icy blue eyes seemed friendly enough to her.

“What happened to your car?” She leaned back, crossing her arms and assessing the damage in her side mirror.

“Deer,” he said.

“Oh... kay... Not much of a conversationalist, huh?” She didn't know why she was pushing, she didn't know why she'd stopped. Just another stupid choice in a long list of them.

“Uh, sorry, I can wait for another...”

“No, stay. I'm just cranky, I haven't had any coffee yet this morning. Thus the bucket.” She shook the coffee drink for him to see, and he nodded politely, shifting to buckle his seat belt. He wore it correctly like a regular Samaritan, she noticed. His gaze met hers and then his eyes shifted pointedly to where the top half of her belt should have been. She rolled her eyes and fixed it, then turned back to him.

“So. Where ya headed?” His expression turned cagey, and he paused. Something in his reticence tugged at her suspicions, but it also left her feeling sort of tender, a little pitying towards him. What was it with her and hot, homeless dudes in distress?

“North, more or less. Car's totaled, but... I can throw in on gas for however far you can take me.”

She nodded, electing not to ask exactly what was going to happen to his car once they left. “I'm going to Middletown, I can drop you there if you want?”

“Yeah,” he said, peering out the dashboard towards the snaking, mountain road ahead. “That'd be great.”

§

Darcy acquiesced to the demands of her overfilled bladder an hour later, pulling in at an ancient gas station. She took care of business quickly and scurried back to the vehicle. It was empty, and when she looked through the mud-flecked window of the convenience store she could just make out James' hooded figure scoping out the refrigerated drinks in the back. She snatched at his bag hastily, unzipping it and rifling through his clothing. She paused at seeing so many guns, alarmed, then continued digging. The true shock came when she found the book. Encyclopedia of Beasts and Monsters in Myth, Legend and Folklore. She opened it, flipping through the pages just to be sure. It was definitely her cramped handwriting filling up the margins. There was no denying it: this was her book.

Her entire body jolted, goosebumps rising along her arms as her misgiving surged. Something very weird and possibly very bad was happening here, and she was not going to confront this man in the confinement of the Pinzgauer. She climbed back out and leaned against the grill, waiting for him. When he stepped out of the shop, his guarded expression told her everything she needed to know.

As he neared her, she held up the evidence for him to see. His shoulders fell but he continued towards her, then leaned alongside her against the front of the vehicle.

“I can explain,” he started.

“Are you with SHIELD?” she asked, solemn and restrained.

He shot her a quick sideways glance, then looked down at his hands. He offered her the Diet Dr. Pepper she'd requested, and she took it, her eyes never leaving his face. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I work for... Alexander Pierce. I, uh, was sent to... you were my mission.”

“What are you supposed to be doing?” she parried.

“It doesn't matter, I'm... I'm done with that. I wanted to know what you were doing, where you were headed next. I was trying to figure out how to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” Her posture had gone stiff, and alarm was etched into her features.

“Just... possible threats, maybe from, uh, HYDRA. You know what that is?” She shook her head, so he continued, “Bad people. People who think you know something they, uh... they don't want you to know.”

“Thor,” she murmured, but he just looked at her blankly. She shook her head. “So what exactly were you gonna do, when we reached Middletown?”

“Come clean, I guess. Best plan I could drum up,” he admitted.

“What actually happened to your car?”

“Crashed it,” he said, his eyes sliding away from her to watch the pickup truck that had rolled up to the nearest pump.

“So tell me,” she said slowly, distrust still lingering in her eyes, “What your confession was gonna be.”

He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I'm leaving... SHIELD. Like I said, I'm done with that. And... I don't know why you're chasing legends and myths, but, uh, maybe I can tag along? For a while?”

She sighed, and cracked open her can of soda, took a sip. She stared at him, weighing her options and considering his words. "Was that you in UWharrie?"

He nodded.

"Were you watching me in Darien?"

He nodded again.

"And Pensacola, what about back then?"

He hesitated for half a second, and then, another nod.

“Okay,” she said simply, turning and ambling back into the vehicle.

He took a deep, calming breath, running his gloved hand through his hair and scratching at his beard with relief, before following suit.

§

#### Middletown, West Virginia

“What are we looking for here?” he asked, as she pulled into the parking spot along the main street in town. She came to a stop and turned off the engine, deciding not to address his use of the word 'we', then shifted in her seat to face him.

“The Snallygaster.” She spoke earnestly, watching his reaction. He chortled, and stretched. She couldn't help herself from admiring the play of muscles along his shoulders, visible even beneath his sweatshirt, and the sliver of chiseled abdomen that was revealed when his shirt rode up. 

“That one wasn't in your book, will you tell me about it?” He was looking at her shrewdly, had obviously caught her ogling him, and Darcy felt like she'd been busted.

She pulled the keys from the ignition and grabbed her jacket, then nodded. “Sure. Over dinner. You're buying.” She opened the door and jumped out before he could protest.

§

They settled into their booth at Hoops Cafe, a charming, one-room establishment that could feed maybe thirty people at a time, tops. They waited until after the waitress had taken their orders and brought them their drinks (a Snallygaster beer for Darcy, water for James), and then he stared at her with expectation.

“So,” she said, “The Snallygaster. It's like, a... one-eyed, dragon-bird-lizard-cephalopod... thing. Although the one eye and the tentacles are optional, because some stories don't include them. Apparently the name comes from the Germans who settled this valley in the 18th century, which, if you think about it... that's a really long time for people to be saying that some mythical animal exists and for the rest of the world to just laugh it off.”

“Your book says people been talking about the Loch Ness monster since the sixth century, you think that one's real too?” he asked skeptically.

“I mean, maybe! If there have literally been reports of something since the beginning of modern civilization or whatever, I dunno, maybe it's time to give them some merit!” Her hands waved emphatically as she spoke, her voice rising. She winced, and took a healthy swallow of her beer to calm herself.

“How about ghosts? UFO's? Little green men?” He was joking, and she took a moment to appreciate how nice it was. His face looked less haggard when he smiled, when he teased. He'd barely spoken during the ride to get here, and definitely hadn't smiled.

“Aliens are real,” she answered calmly.

“That so?” He leaned back in the booth, waiting for her to defend her position. “You seem pretty certain.”

She nodded, took another sip, glanced at their fellow diners then back to him. “I am,” she said at last.

“You have a close encounter of your own?”

She exhaled, reached for the salt shaker and began to fiddle with the cap. “I did, actually. You don't have to believe me, I wouldn't have believed me a couple months ago. But if you're really SHIELD then you should know that they're real, because they _are_ , and that's all I'm gonna say about it.”

He swallowed, watched her shake out a small pile of salt on the table between them. She screwed the lid back on, then nestled the shaker into the mound, so that it balanced on the thin edge of its round base. It remained perched like even after she carefully pulled her hands away. She looked up at him through her eyelashes and he grinned, about to say something, when the waitress arrived with their burgers. They ate silently for a while, and then he asked, “These... Snallygasters... been spotted here often or somethin'?”

She nodded, finishing her bite. “All over Frederick County, really. There's a farm on the west side of town, named Froggy Hollow, which was supposedly the site where one drank itself to death in a giant vat of moonshine. The farmer conveniently blew it up with a ton of dynamite afterwards, of course. We can check that out after nightfall, since it'll require a little trespassing. But the main reason I picked Middletown is because of the Dewayo.”

He said nothing, just raised one eyebrow quizzically and continued chewing. “This one's a twofer,” she explained. “Because the Snallygaster has a mortal enemy, the Dewayo. It's like, a werewolf... thing. Apparently they were spotted duking it out in this area in the early 1900's."

He laughed, shook his head, and took a long drink of his water. Her eyes were drawn to the way his throat moved while he swallowed but she lowered them quickly when he put the glass down, hoping he hadn't caught her again.

“So we go out to the farm, then what?”

She propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward, then said under her breath, “We do a little lookin' around, a little investigatin', a little cryptozoologizin', that's what.”

He licked his teeth and smiled in spite of himself, charmed at the grit in her voice and the tenacious spark in her eyes.

§

She'd decided, glancing at him knowingly, that a nap was necessary before any creature hunting could begin, and James couldn't see a flaw in that idea. They'd ended up back in the Pinzgauer, parked on a quiet old logging road, Darcy nestled down into her sleeping bag on one side and James rolled up in her wool blanket at the other. They'd chatted a bit more about the creature as they drifted off, Darcy mentioning they should draw a seven-pointed star somewhere on themselves for protection and advising that maybe he should bring one of his guns since the creature was said to have a metal beak. He'd agreed to that immediately, although not for the same reasons as her, before letting the tranquil, grey afternoon pull him down into the sleep he desperately needed.

It was Darcy who woke _him_ , shaking him gently hours after the sun had fully set. He had a moment of shock when he opened his eyes to the dark cabin, and flailed wildly in an attempt to defend himself from his sleep-addled vision of encroaching agents. One hand, thankfully flesh and bone, made contact with her cheek, and the sound of her muffled squeak as she landed heavily on the floor of the vehicle broke through his trance.

“Shit! Darcy? Are you okay?” He was out of the blanket and by her side in a heartbeat, lifting her face and scanning it for injuries, his eyes already adjusted to the shadows. Her wide blue eyes flicked down to where his hand was lightly holding her jaw, then shyly slid up to meet his. She nodded silently, returning his gaze unblinkingly. He could see her breathing had sped up, could feel the small puffs of air against his own face. He nodded, trying to gather himself, then scooted back to his side of the carriage to lean against the canvas wall. “Sorry,” he muttered, “Bad dreams.”

She crawled towards him, then turned to sit beside him, her arm brushing against his. He held his breath; she was on his left. But if she noticed something unusual through his sweatshirt and her own, she said nothing, just gently leaned her head on his shoulder. “I have them too,” she confessed in a small, faint voice.

“What do you do about them?” he asked.

Her mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “I go hunting for critters,” she answered.

§

Over coffee and omelets the next morning, she'd admitted that while she didn't think one night of traipsing around the farmland of Frederick's County without results meant that the creature was debunked, for now at least, she was ready to move on. He'd accepted that readily, then delicately suggested she should let him continue helping her. He'd gotten a genuine smile at that, her full lips pulling back to reveal straight white teeth, a slight gap between the two at the front, her eyes crinkling with delight.

“Of course,” she'd murmured playfully, “I'd be grateful for the company.”

As she was driving them out of the town, they both startled at the high-pitched whistle that rang out in the air, its eerie reverberations bouncing around the hills for a long, tense moment after. “That's what its call sounds like,” she whispered urgently.

“That's also what a train sounds like,” he countered.

She huffed contemptuously. “Yeah, if it was, like, 1885 and people still rode steam trains with steam whistles! Trains honk these days, or they blare, they don't whistle. So what the hell was that?”

He shrugged, and the car went silent, the silence shifting from tense to comfortable as time passed. They crossed the state line from West Virginia into Maryland and the dramatic, sweeping curves of the mountain-hugging highway gradually began to even out into gently rolling hills, the terrain flattening as they left Appalachia behind them. Darcy pulled out a battered cassette at some point, bopping her head and humming softly to the songs of My Fair Lady. James found he didn't mind it, the story even seemed vaguely familiar, and he'd fully relaxed into the camaraderie and coziness that comes with long drives, minutely tapping his right foot in time with the music, when he saw it. They were somewhere along Interstate 695 East, making their way around Baltimore.

He gasped, his attention lost to everything but the looming billboard that was drawing closer. The advertisement was a larger-than-life photo of a man whose face he knew all too well. The words splashed across the center read: “ _Captain America: The Living Legend and Symbol of Courage... coming soon to the Smithsonian Museum!_ “

“I know him,” he said dazedly, nodding at the sign.

“Captain America? Yeah, we all know him dude, it's been all over the news. World War Two hero and, like, symbol of American patriotism, found _alive_ in his crashed ship somewhere up in the Arctic Circle, I think? A few days ago. It's crazy... crazy that he survived that, crazy that he's alive again after all these years. I mean, I can believe it though. I kind of feel like it's crazier that the Smithsonian is already making an exhibit about it. But it's like... anything is possible these days. Strange times, my friend,” she concluded thoughtfully.

“No,” he shook his head, forgetting about subterfuge and dropping any attempt to hide his suspicions about his own identity, “That's Steve Rogers. We came up together in Brooklyn. I _know_ him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Bucky = the Scully and Mulder of the Marvel Universe? (except she's the believer and he's the skeptic) ;D


	6. Jersey Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The most popular version of the myth goes like this: In the early 1700s, a Pines resident named Mother Leeds had given birth a dozen times, and on her 13th pregnancy muttered, "Let this one be a devil!" Sure enough, her child became a demon-like creature, grew "leathery, bat-like" wings, killed his own mother, and then flew into the Pine Barrens, where it has since haunted the woods."
> 
> ######  [Vice.com, _"Why the Urban Legend of the Jersey Devil Won't Die "_](https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/yvxqkk/why-the-urban-legend-of-the-jersey-devil-wont-die-666)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hey, just a quick note of warning: there is a small, passing reference to non-consensual body modification the Winter Soldier might have experienced in this chapter (besides the obvious, like his prosthetic and the serum). It's just one sentence but I thought I should mention that beforehand.  
>  _

#### Cape May, New Jersey

Darcy could not contain her excitement at being somewhere so familiar, sighing nostalgically as she drove them into the seaside town. After she and James had checked into their quaint B&B, him groaning at the chintzy, floral-patterned everything inside the old Victorian-style house while she cackled delightedly at his chagrin, they set out to walk around. Everywhere they looked there was grandiose pastel-colored architecture: romantically shrouded porches, secretive towers, ivy-covered eaves, the works. They had the streets mostly to themselves, the summertime flow of tourists having dried up weeks ago.

Darcy pointed to a towering blue-gray mansion with red roofs, across the street from where they were strolling, and casually said, “That's the Physick Estate. It's supposed to be one of the most haunted houses in Cape May, you know.”

James simply shot her an exasperated look and kept moving. When they reached the beach, they ambled over the dunes and down to where the sand was still tightly packed from that morning's high tide. Darcy pulled out a blanket and they collapsed onto it, peering out at the woolly, steel-colored sky and the restless sea that rolled out to meet it.

“Okay, James. You haven't said a word since Baltimore. But you, uh, you know Steve Rogers. Or you grew up with him. Can you please explain to me what the hell you meant by that?”

He sighed, shook his head, did not look away from swell of white foam that was dissolving into the pale sand before them. Chewing the inside of her mouth, she laid back on the blanket, closing her eyes and listening to the rumble of the sea, the screeching calls of the gulls. He sneaked a glance at her then, his fingers twitching at the way her sweater pulled tight across her chest, the toned shape of her bent legs, her dark lashes against her pale cheek. He looked back to the water.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes. That mean anything to you?” he asked, quietly.

“Hmmm,” she answered, opening one eye to gaze up at him. She grabbed her phone from her backpack, and typed something into it. She read for several minutes, her frown deepening the further she read. Then she heaved herself up onto her elbows and turned to give him her full attention.

“Holy shit,” she said in wonder. “I wouldn't have seen it, 'cause of the beard, and there's something about your eyes, you look... sadder... but...” She held up the phone, which displayed a posed publicity photo of Captain America and the Howling Commandos, next to his face, and exhaled heavily. “Yep. That's you alright, or you're the most convincingly half-assed historical reenactor I've ever seen. How... how is this possible?”

“It's a long story,” he muttered evasively, not meeting her eyes.

She felt another twinge of sympathy. “Okay,” she said, “Well, maybe you can tell it to me someday. When you're ready.” He nodded, but said nothing further, so she laid back down on the blanket, still eyeing him with concern. Within minutes he could hear her breathing even out, then deepen as she fell into a late morning nap. He watched the dark swell for hours while she slept, letting the tide churn up visions of past summers spent in Coney Island, by this same ocean.

§

Despite her nap, they both slept deeply that night, deaf to the old house's wooden creaks and groans; the fresh sea air, Darcy's amateur haunted house tour and the massive pizza they'd shared drained what little energy they had left.

She'd been working up the nerve to ask him about the sleeping situation as she brushed her teeth, but when she emerged from the small washroom James had already grabbed an extra blanket and pillow from the armoire and was throwing them on the floor. She thought about offering to share the bed, after all, they'd slept in the Pinz together without issue. But scoping out the size of the small double mattress and then James' muscle-packed frame, she thought he might have the right idea. Waking up on top of each other might be... awkward, for two people who were still essentially strangers.

After grabbing pork roll and cheddar breakfast sandwiches from a local deli (she'd insisted) and large coffees, they lay the course for the sandy, scrub-filled woodland of the Pine Barrens. Darcy was especially excited about the Jersey Devil; growing up in New York, she'd spent her summers down at the Jersey shore with her cousins, scaring each senseless with countless stories about the creature while they loafed around beach campfires on breezy, humid evenings.

This one would make good, she just knew it, she could feel it all the way down to her bones.

§

The view along the four-laned Garden State Parkway was unremarkable, just pines and sound barriers to look at for most of the hour-long ride north. There were brief shimmering glimpses to their right, now and again, of the Atlantic Ocean, but they were both so consumed by their ardent debate that they barely noticed the view.

“Let me get this straight, doll, you're seriously asking me to believe that some lady didn't want any more kids back in the colonial days, so she said a coupla' mean things to her pregnant belly, then she gave birth to a demon? And that demon is... still alive today?” James was leaning back against the passenger door, his left leg folded atop the seat as he waited for her defense, clearly enjoying himself.

She smacked the wheel, although she didn't look away from the crowded highway ahead of them. “I'm asking you to entertain the possibility, that's all! Remind me again, James Buchanan Barnes, when were you born?”

“That's different,” he argued, “I've stuck around for longer than I was supposed to through technology and science. You're talking about black magic.”

She poked at the metal arm she'd gotten a peek at the night before, after he'd _explained_ that SHIELD had made it for him. “Yeah, and if you'd have shown up on the doorstep of Big Momma Leeds' house with that thing, she would've taken one look at you and screamed black magic. You probably would've been hung for being the devil. So if they could confuse science for magic back then, isn't it possible that people have done the opposite since the Reformation? I mean, maybe there is a rational, logical explanation. And I'd be happy with that! Or maybe magic just actually exists, people try to pretend that everything's science but it's not, and all you nay-sayers need to suck it up and deal with that truth.”

He laughed, shaking his head, and scanned the horizon, taking in the cars around them. While she was focused on changing lanes, he did a quick perimeter check in his side mirror. None of the license plates, makes, or models, were ones that gave him pause. As far as he could tell, they were not being followed. Yet. 

James knew it was only a matter of time before his handlers found the ditched tracking devices, then the Jetta, and then they'd begin hunting him in earnest. He had no illusions that he'd be safe from them forever. Before hitching a ride with Darcy, he'd carefully considered the ethics of even getting involved with her, what he might bring down on her head. He'd come to the conclusion, however, that if HYDRA figured out that he'd jumped ship while following her, she'd be in every bit as much danger as he was. And he thought it very likely that HYDRA _could_ figure that out, put them together, and find her. They'd only need to interrogate her scientist friends, who she'd told him were aware of her plans, or her sisters, with whom she texted regularly.

His mind strayed back to Steve. He wondered if his oldest friend was okay, if it was difficult for him to wake up in this time after half a century of forced hibernation. He missed him. He wanted to reach out to him, but he couldn't think of a single way he could do it. And what if Steve was with SHIELD? What if... HYDRA got to him? Steve is incorruptible, he reassured himself. Not like me.

He'd find Steve, when the time was right. When... when he felt ready for Steve to see what he'd become. When he'd come to terms with it, himself. For now, he had the mission. Darcy. And Darcy's monsters.

Better that he stay close.

“You getting a motel room tonight?” He asked with feigned indifference, unsure what he would do if she opted for civilization instead of sleeping in the truck. She'd insisted on his staying in the bed and breakfast with her the night before, complaining that the mansion was 'spooky' and 'obviously haunted', but he doubted that the same uneasiness would present itself in normal lodging.

“Uh-uh, no way. I've got something special planned for us tonight,” she said with a smug grin. He chortled, the word 'us' soothing his worries, and turned to look at her profile. His eyes lingered on the playful smile lifting her plush lips. 

“Should I be nervous?” he asked lightly.

“Maybe a little. You're gonna earn your keep, Sergeant Barnes, 'cause tonight we're sleeping in the house where the Jersey Devil was born.”

§

#### Washington, D.C.

“Barton, walk with me?” Nick Fury did not stop moving through the Triskelion as he nodded, then spoke to the archer, swiftly making his way towards the conference room where the Special Mission Unit, STRIKE, would soon be assembling.

“Sir?” Clint said, looking at his superior warily then following.

“This way,” was the only response he got as Nick deviated from his path, turning down a corridor that led the away from the waiting fellow agents. He stopped in front of a utility closet, pulling open the unmarked door then gesturing inside to Clint. The agent froze in his tracks, glancing dubiously between the director and the dark, confined space. “We don't have a lot time before the meeting gets underway, Barton,” Nick ground out in a low, urgent voice.

Barton sighed, and stepped inside the closet. Fury followed, and closed the door behind him, then raised his hand towards the ceiling to twist a lightbulb until it turned on. Still the one-eyed man did not speak aloud, but pointed to his ears. Clint hastily reached behind his own, feeling for the switch on each of his hearing aids and turning them off. The older man scoured the room for possible surveillance devices, then began to communicate with sign language.

“SHIELD compromised,” he signed, “STRIKE compromised. World Security Council compromise possible. Accept STRIKE team Delta assignment, assist with mission to find HYDRA operative, observe STRIKE movements closely. Report back to me. Use highest level confidentiality in all communications.”

Clint rubbed his hand over his face in shock, then raised his hands to ask, “Who? How?”

“Unknown,” Nick responded, shaking his head as his hands flew, artlessly expressing his thoughts, “Agent 13 reported to Coulson... STRIKE agent Jack Rollins appeared at Thor landing site. Two days ago. Looking for Foster and Selvig. Maybe acting alone, maybe on orders. Agent 13 says story's no good, Coulson agrees.”

“Does Black Widow know?” Clint signaled.

“Affirmative. Get close to Rollins. Keep eyes open.” Clint nodded gravely, and Nick returned the gesture, then spun and exited the closet, closing the door behind him. Clint knew what this meant: give it three minutes, then leave. He leaned on a nearby shelf while he waited, considering the idea of a breach. Who, though? Ten Rings? AIM? Hostile foreign government? He sighed, then set his shoulders, preparing himself for a whole lot of fast-talking at the debrief he was about to attend.

He turned on his hearing aids and twisted the light bulb until it was dark in the closet once more. There goes the neighborhood, he thought resignedly, as he slipped out of the closet and made his way back towards the conference room.

§

#### The Pine Barrens, Galloway, New Jersey

The sun had sunk below the trees, casting the dilapidated Moss Mill Road into gloomy, foreboding dimness as they rolled along, Darcy taking her time to avoid the gaping cracks where the roots of the surrounding trees had begun to push through the asphalt.

She turned onto Leeds Point Road, desperately scanning both sides for somewhere they could safely hide the Pinzgauer for the night. Seeing nothing, she turned down a lane marked with a dead-end sign, hoping they could just leave it in the cul-de-sac without notice. However, almost the moment the vehicle came to a rest, a balding, shirtless man emerged from a nearby mobile home, advancing on them with a raised shotgun. “Ugh, Pineys. Let me handle this,” Darcy muttered, glancing at James, before opening her door and exiting. He lifted his hands in concession but still climbed out, marching around to hover imposingly behind her, glowering at the unkempt man.

“You's can't park here,” the man shouted churlishly.

“I'm so sorry, mister, we're just a little lost. Maybe you can help us?” Darcy gave him her most charming smile, batting her eyelashes coquettishly and shrugging one shoulder. “We're looking for the Leeds house, we're hunting the Jersey Devil. I have family in the Pines who said this was the road.”

“Where's your family from?” His twangy, nasal voice lost some of its hostility, and he lowered the gun slightly.

“Over in Williamstown,” she said. She reached behind her, twining her arm around James' and leaning her body into his. “Me and my hubby just thought it'd be a fun camping trip, try and find him. Can you help us?”

“Jersey Devil, huh?” the man asked cheerfully, his smile revealing a mouth full of cracked and missing teeth. “Heh. You kids are braver'n me, that's a fact. Couldn't pay me to go near that old Leeds house.”

“So you know where it is?” James barked out gruffly. Darcy shot him a dirty look then turned to the man, grinning sheepishly in apology.

“Yeah, it's close by. You're gonna wan' bring some warm clothes, the nights are getting cold now. Leave your truck here if you want, I'll keep an eye on it. Walk back out to Leeds Road and turn right, go 'bout a half a mile up. You'll see an old trail on your left leading into the woods, follow it. What's left of the house is at the end, maybe two miles out.” He smiled again, and although Darcy wasn't entirely sure she trusted him, she decided to roll with it anyway.

“Thank you so much, mister. I'm Daisy, by the way, and this is my man, Jim. We really appreciate your help.” She knew she was laying it on thick, was pretty sure it was making James uncomfortable if his stiff posture was anything to go by, but as the man eyed him suspiciously he raised his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her in closer.

“Yeah,” he said roughly, “Thanks.”

The man nodded. “Bill,” he answered, “You's also better wear some reflective clothing, hunting season's just started up. You's got a tent? I got some Coors in the fridge, take a couple to help stay warm out there, alright?” Without waiting for an answer he ducked back inside, returning with the beers and a handful of small sachets. “Here're summa those warmin' things, just fold 'em in the middle and they'll get hot, then put 'em in yer pockets,” he advised, handing Darcy the offerings.

She nodded gratefully, then ushered James back towards the trunk to grab their gear. As they were gathering what they'd need for the night he muttered darkly, “Make sure you lock all the doors before we leave,” glancing out the rubber window in the canvas, where Bill was still watching them with an enigmatic grin.

§

Darcy tittered anxiously as they stumbled upon the crumbling remains of the Leeds house's stone walls. The beam of her flashlight revealed that it was almost overrun by ferns, and when they passed through what had once been the front door, they found that the wooden floor had long since disintegrated and only the flora of the forest inhabited what was left of the home now. Darcy peered around at the silhouetted scrub pines and cedars that towered over them in all directions, and whispered, “Okay, this may have been my worst idea yet.”

“We're here now,” James reasoned, then added sarcastically, “And trusty ol' Bill is watching the Pinz. We oughta stay, see what happens.”

“About that...” She began, as she turned on the lantern then held the flashlight so that he could begin assembling his small tent on a patch of mossy soil, “I don't think we're both gonna fit in there, are we?”

“No, that's why I'll use your sleeping bag out here,” he said.

“Wait, what? Just like... outside? On the ground? In the dirt?” she sputtered.

He grinned, continued shoving the tent's stakes into the soft earth. Dissatisfied with how unstable they were, he lifted the flashlight from Darcy's hand and cast about for some of the surrounding wall's fallen stones to secure them. “You're not much of an outdoorsy type, are you doll?” his voice teased from the dark, somewhere near the back of the house.

“Dude, we are in the birthplace of the Jersey Devil. This is the kind of scenario that horror movie advice, like, “don't split up”, was invented for. Are you seriously telling me that this place,” her arm swept around them at the jagged remains of the old colonial home, thrown into even more malevolent relief by her lantern's weak light, “does not give you the serious creeps?”

He shook his head as he returned, his arms full of large stones. “It's an old house in the woods. The sandiness of the soil will make it difficult to track our footsteps out here. We'll be pretty well hidden once we're lying down and we turn our lights off. I'd say this place is pretty safe.”

“But we're talking about the devil!” she cried, arranging her blanket inside the now solidly assembled tent while he unrolled her sleeping bag directly outside the zippered canvas opening. “I don't think he needs a physical trail to find us.”

“Uh, right,” he mumbled. “The devil. Well if it shows itself, my Beretta will help us find out if it's flesh and blood, so...”

“He survived a cannonball being shot at him, I seriously doubt a pistol's gonna do much.” She huffed in exasperation at his sanguine attitude, and crawled into the tent. “I'm setting my alarm for three, the witching hour. We'll do a little exploring then.”

He unzipped the bag, and nestled himself inside. “Sweet dreams until then, doll.” She snorted, but did not answer, and although it took her a little longer, eventually the lonely cries of a nearby family of geese serenaded them both into a restless sleep.

§

“James,” her voice gently broke through the hazy memories of violence he'd been reliving in his dream, and he woke with a start. “Sorry to wake you,” she said. “But it's time. Let's go take a look around.”

He nodded shakily and stood, the horror from his dreams slowly dissipating as he followed with the lantern while she used the flashlight to lead them out of the house, and deeper into the trees. They passed a rank-smelling cedar bog, then another, without seeing anything of interest. They stumbled around for an hour, finding more birch trees and ferns in every direction, before she muttered, “Okay, I'm freezing, let's go back.” She handed him the flashlight so he could navigate.

Just as they were approaching the stone walls of the Leeds house she heard a heavy thud, loud thrashing in the leaves and something like the sound of leathery wings flapping rapidly behind them. 

“What the fuck,” she whispered urgently, whirling to peer into the dark foliage behind them. James turned, his flashlight exposing low bushes that were shaking violently within an oak grove. Suddenly there was a growling, bleating sound, and then two red eyes appeared, peering out at them through the leaves.

“No, no, _NO_!” she shrieked, turning and abandoning him as she scrambled towards the ruins. James followed, and when she darted inside the tent he crouched down so he could peer inside. Panting, her hands shaking, she reached for him. “Get in, get in,” she hissed.

“Darcy,” he murmured, “It was just an animal. Probably a raccoon or something.”

“Please, please, _please_ ,” she begged, and he sighed, then crawled into the tiny tent after her, zipping the flap closed and hunching over slightly so he could sit beside her.

“Okay, I know I am a complete wuss and that was the most cowardly move in the history of cryptozoology but for the love of God, please do not tease me right now,” she whispered, her teeth chattering.

“Hey,” he said, realizing just how distressed she was. He extended his arm around her shoulders and gasped in surprise when she climbed into his lap, her thighs clenching around his hips as she straddled him.

She clutched at the front of his sweatshirt and tucked her face into the crook of his neck, muttering, “Just... Ugh. Please don't judge me.”

“I won't,” he said in a low, reassuring rumble, his arms hesitantly coming up to rub her shivering back and hold her tightly against him. “You're safe. I'm here with you, and we're safe.” He felt her head nod against his shoulder, but she made no move to climb off him and although he wished she weren't so upset, he found himself bereft of any other complaints about the situation. She felt good in his arms, she felt... right. He sighed again, and lowered his head to rest on top of hers. “It's okay, sweetheart. We all get scared sometimes.”

§

#### Washington, D.C.

“So, this Winter Soldier,” Clint began casually as he parked himself across the canteen table from Jack Rollins. Jack looked nervously to his left, where Brock Rumlow was halfway through his breakfast, then back to Clint. “How come all of a sudden we've got a bead on him, when we were never been able to track him before, never had a thing on him? Seems odd to me.”

He picked up an apple from the tray he'd set down in front of himself and took an obnoxiously large bite while he watched both men carefully for a response. Brock simply shrugged noncommittally and continued eating, but Jack shifted ever so slightly in his seat, his eyes glued to his own meal.

“Luck,” Brock offered, then went back to his eggs.

“First we make contact with Thor, then we find the Cap, and now some HYDRA bogie man who's been at it for half a century without even pinging our radar is... what? Suddenly shit at covering his tracks?” Clint scoffed, then huffed derisively, “Seems like more than luck to me.”

“What're you trying to say, Barton?” Jack asked, his tone sharp.

“Just making an observation,” Clint answered evenly, taking another bite from his apple.

“Yeah well, no one asked for it,” Jack ground out, then turned to Brock and loudly began to review logistics, refusing to look at Clint again.

§

#### The Pine Barrens, Galloway, New Jersey

James came to lazily, feeling warm and relaxed. He flexed his fingers against the soft, rounded body part he was holding, and nuzzled his face into clean, slightly apple-scented curls. He stiffened suddenly as he became truly conscious, aware now of the sun shining through the nylon fabric of the tent, heating the small space where he and Darcy were curled up together. He lifted his head slightly and saw that what his hand was full of was her breast, and relaxed his fingers, shifting his hand away and desperately trying not to think about her like... that.

Which was when he realized his prick was verging on painfully hard, nestled against Darcy's behind. Of course he felt embarrassment at his predicament, but... he also felt wonder, because he couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten an erection. He'd been harboring the sickening suspicion that HYDRA had chemically castrated him, and never in his life had he been so happy to be wrong. Still. The way he was using her shapely bottom as a resting place for his arousal was not gentlemanly. He was preparing to untangle his legs from hers and climb over her to get out of the tent when she moaned in her sleep, pulling his hand back to her breast, wiggling back against him and shifting her head, where it rested on his right arm, slightly closer to his chest. He stayed frozen for another fraught minute, waiting for her to wake, but she didn't, so he sighed, willing himself to relax, and eventually fell back into a light doze.

§

Later, when they'd risen and packed their things, then returned to the truck (untouched, to his surprise), he wondered if it was manners or ignorance that kept her from mentioning the state they'd woken up in. When they stopped at a Wawa for gas, he watched her circumspectly from across the convenience store while she ordered hoagies for them. She glanced over at him and smiled, and he hastily returned his gaze to the shelves of chips in front of him. Admit it pal, he thought reproachfully, she's gorgeous, and this little mission is about more than just her well-being. He shook his head as if to deny his own accusation, and then joined her at the coffee stand where she was assembling two drinks, one black for her and one lightened by an obscene amount of cream and sugar for him. They climbed back into the truck, and although she was more subdued than normal, he took it as a good sign that she didn't seem upset with him.

She quickly navigated across the sleepy country roads, back to the Parkway, before transferring to I-95 North.

“We're not sticking around?” he asked. “We didn't get any proof.”

She shook her head, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Hell no. I don't think my nerves could handle another encounter with that... thing. As far as I'm concerned... It's real, and it is _not_ to be fucked with. We're moving on.”

“Fair enough,” he said easily. “Where are we headed?”

“Glastonbury,” she answered, then shoved the Oklahoma! cassette into the console's tape player, cranking the volume to prevent any further discussion.


	7. Glawackus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It relieved the monotony of a dreary winter," a July 8 editorial noted. "It provided small talk for uncounted dinner tables just as the subject of the hurricane began to pall. It got any number of ordinarily slothful individuals into the open air... Now it is dead, but if one knows Glastonbury, it will rise again. It was too useful to remain long buried."
> 
> ######  [Hartford Courant, _"A Mysterious Creature That Once Haunted Glastonbury"_ (August 21, 2014) ](http://www.courant.com/community/glastonbury/hc-glastonbury-glawackus-legend-20140820-story.html)

#### Washington, D.C.

Natalia Romanova was filing her nails as she waited for the last of the personnel files and mission reports to finish copying onto the external hard drive she'd attached to Phil Coulson's computer. He sat across his desk from her, in the chair usually reserved for his visitors, typing away placidly on this phone.

“Could you put your feet down, Romanoff?” he sighed, nodding at where they rested, crossed at the ankles, atop his desk, “I know you were raised better than that.”

She chuckled darkly, fully aware that he knew _exactly_ how she was raised, and lowered her feet to the ground. "Sorry, Phil." She shoved the emery board in her pocket, then unplugged the hardware and palmed it, crossing his office. “I'm all finished, anyway. Thanks for your help.”

“What's the next step?” he asked as she reached for the door knob.

She gave him a wistful echo of a smile, then answered, “We look for patterns among active and inactive agents' personal and professional histories. We compare anything we notice against anything we've collected from other agencies, and then we cross-reference all of that with any recent activity Agent 13, Agent Barton, and I deem suspicious from your mission reports until we have a clearer idea of which agents are involved with the breach, and who they're working for.”

Phil nodded, and sighed again. “What level security are we operating at here?”

“Too high to be given a number,” she demurred, already halfway out the door.

§

#### Glastonbury, Connecticut

Darcy lingered in the tiny shower stall until the water ran cold. The soothing heat sapped the remaining tension in her shoulders and back, which she'd carried for the entire five hours of driving from the Jersey shore up to the surprisingly dense timberland of inland Connecticut. James had offered to spot her several times, but she'd wanted something to focus on, something to distract her from that horrifying whisper of rasping wings, that vision of hateful red eyes floating before her. Having a task to do, a new destination to reach, had grounded her. She'd needed that.

She'd done a lot of thinking along the way, about whether she should continue this journey of hers. Was she too much of a wimp for this kind of thing? Why even was she doing it, if she turned and tucked tail at the first honest to God encounter with a cryptid?

It's just the demonic element of the Jersey Devil, she mentally contended, and her own personal history with it. She'd grown up scaring herself silly on stories of the devil. She wouldn't have felt that kind of terror at seeing the Loch Ness monster or a Chupacabra. She took heart in this explanation, regardless of its veracity.

She pushed the plastic curtain back and stepped out into the hazy, steam-filled bathroom, leaning against the sink and inhaling deeply. It was fine, she was safe. James was just outside the door, and he wouldn't let anything happen to her. She didn't know at what point in the last few days of his constant, steady presence she'd decided she trusted him implicitly with her safety, but as she wiped off the condensation clinging to the mirror in front of her, she accepted that she had.

Looking down at her full breasts, her flat, soft stomach that sloped down into the dark hair between her strong thighs, the flare of her hips and the neat tuck of her waist, she wondered if he realized he'd been rubbing his arousal against her as they laid together in the tent that morning. She certainly hadn't said anything as she was waking up or later, while they were on the road, couldn't even dream of a way to bring it up that wouldn't be unbearably awkward for both of them. Maybe it was just as well they let it lie; if he even knew he'd been doing it, it seemed like he was still working through some things, and she was not going to be the one to push for a physical connection if he wasn't ready.

Even if she wanted it. Badly.

No aggressive flirting, she reprimanded her reflection, silently wagging her finger and trying to ignore the warm tingling that started up every time she thought about his hard, warm body against her back. And no crawling into his bed tonight. If he wants this, let him make the first move. Poor guy has obviously been through the wringer... there's definitely some stuff that he's not ready to share yet.

She dried off quickly, pulled on her sweats, and took one more deep breath of warm, wet air before she walked out into the motel room, where James was waiting for her with the clam chowder and johnnycakes he'd fetched for them.

When he's ready, she reminded herself as a swell of affection washed over her. And not before.

§

#### Bethesda, Maryland

“What've you got for me, Agent Romanoff?” Directory Fury asked in a low voice, as he slid into the booth across from the redheaded spy. It was just after three am, and Natasha had been sipping her strong, black tea in a booth at the back of the empty diner while she waited for Nick to show up for their meeting. She glanced at the waitress, who was snapping her gum and leaning disinterestedly against the counter by the entrance, then placed an assuming-looking black USB stick on the table.

“I'm still working on the files from Coulson and a couple of things have pinged my radar, but... this is more important, I think. Agent 13 has been in touch with agents she trusts at the active off-site facilities. She asked for full system scans from all of them, and something interesting turned up from the Lemurian Star."

“Anything we can move on?”

“That's the thing,” she gestured towards the small piece of tech, “the files are encrypted. Totally unbreakable. The only thing I could pull was the location where... whatever it is... was written, a set of coordinates in New Jersey. Sir... it's from the former Camp Lehigh.”

Nick leaned forward in his seat, picking up the innocuous-looking piece of plastic and studying it with his good eye. He returned it to Natasha. “That can't be a coincidence, can it? The Captain finally turns up just as we find encrypted files buried in our system, from his old training facility?” Natasha shrugged. “Hunt it down, but take backup. STRIKE doesn't have anything solid on the Winter Soldier yet; they can spare Barton for a day or two. Go to New Jersey. Bring me back something I can work with.” He stood up. “Be careful, Agent Romanoff. This _has_ to stay quiet, which means going in blind, so make sure you take everything you've got.”

Natasha's green eyes flashed with alarm, but almost as soon as it peeked through it was smothered, replaced by her usual composure.

“Yes sir,” she said quietly to his back as he strode briskly out of the diner.

§

#### Glastonbury, Connecticut

This place was the very pinnacle of a nice New England town, Darcy thought, as they drove from their motel, down by the Connecticut River, towards the hilly entrance to Meshomasic State Park. There was a funny mix of ostentatious McMansions and prim, clapboard farmhouses sitting far back from the wide, maple-lined avenues and the lawns, boasting a yellow and green mosaic of the first fallen leaves, were otherwise impeccable. The smell of burning wood gently wafted from the chimneys in the cool, crisp morning air. In the center of town they passed a white-washed wooden church with a gleaming silver bell encased in its spire.

“Nice place,” James grunted.

“Eh, Darien had better food,” Darcy said dismissively, turning into the parking lot of the park's western entrance. She bought a camping license at the entrance station, then returned to the Pinz where James was holding her backpack and his own bag, already packed.

“You're a godsend,” she crooned, pulling the pack onto her shoulders. She opened the map the ranger had given her and peered down at the network of trails indecisively. “The only information I could find on this beastie was that it killed the farm animals in town, but there wasn't really anything about where it lived. People hunted for it in the caves up in northwestern Connecticut but... I dunno, I kind of doubt it would've traveled all the way to Glastonbury from there.”

James examined the map over her shoulder, then reached around her to point at the longest of the snaking, highlighted lines. “Oughta take the ten-mile red trail, we're camping anyway. Red trail takes us away from the town, where wilder animals probably live.” He didn't mention that it also meant they'd be far away from civilization and difficult to track. She didn't mention how every nerve in her body seemingly went up in flame at his proximity, the feeling of his arm brushing hers as he spoke leaving her flushed and distracted, the sensation of him at her back reminding her of their recent morning snuggle.

She simply nodded, re-folding the map and shoving it in her coat pocket. He shouldered his bag and followed her as she set off on the marked trail.

The night passed uneventfully. They reached the campground on Kongscut Mountain in the late afternoon without encountering anything unusual and despite a midnight trek from their clearing into the surrounding thicket, the only sounds they heard were of a forest slipping into Autumn. James stayed in her sleeping bag outside the tent's opening and she inside his tent, and although she could see her breath rising up into the air above her prone body, there was nothing scary enough to provide a proper excuse for breaking the vow she'd made about waiting for him to make the first move.

The next morning, they stopped at a scenic overview area for breakfast, hypothesizing over what animal the Glawackus might be while sharing granola on an old park bench. After eating a few handfuls, she excused herself to go pee in the woods. As she was finishing, she heard what sounded like a deep, persistent groaning coming from higher up the mountain and cautiously climbed up towards it.

She arrived at a looming but shallow grotto in the rockface, and now she could clearly hear the sound of wheezing, snoring animals. She reached into her backpack and grabbed her flashlight, shining it on the inhabitants within. She gasped, then turned the light out immediately, backing away silently. When she reached the bench, she found James still admiring the view of the rolling, timber-covered hills below, the town spreading out towards the river and in the distance, the jagged skyline of Hartford. “Hey come on, I wanna show you something,” she said in a low voice, snaking her hand around his metal bicep and tugging lightly.

He gave her a puzzled look but came without protest, and when they reached the den she handed him the flashlight. “Just turn it on for a second, I don't wanna wake them up,” she whispered. He did, and silently guffawed into his fist at the sight within: a snuffling, sleeping pile of dark-furred, fluffy-tailed creatures, about the size of bear cubs, distinguishable from one another only by the copper coloring on their backs, the crowns of their dog-shaped heads, and the tips of their little pointed ears. James and Darcy crept away from the cave, and it was not until they'd returned to the trail that she said, “I don't think they're supposed to live this far south, and they're supposed to be solitary animals. But... Do you think they might be the Glawackus?”

He shrugged, then proffered, “They fit the physical descriptions from the old newspaper clips you showed me. Definitely had the claws for killin' livestock. They're probably not the beasts themselves, but maybe, uh, descendants?”

“Wolverines,” she breathed, awe-struck, “Who would've thought?”


	8. Champ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " **Freshwater Monster of Lake Champlain in Vermont, New York, and Québec**   
>  _Scientific name:_ Champtanystropheus, proposed by Dennis Hall.   
>  _Etymology:_ After the lake.   
>  _Variant names:_ Champy, Chaousarou, Sammy, Tatoskok _(Abenaki/Algonquian)_   
>  _Physical description:_ Reports from the nineteenth century to the 1960s generally describe an enormous serpent. Fiery eyes. Possibly hooded. Glistening scales. Fishlike tail. Spouts water."
> 
> ######  Mysterious Creatures: A Guide to Cryptozoology, George M. Eberhart

#### Burlington County, Vermont, somewhere along I-89 North

“ _On July 28, 1984, Michael Shea, Bette Morris, and about sixty other people watched Champ for ten to fifteen minutes from the vessel The Spirit of Ethan Allen off Appletree Point..._ ” Darcy looked up from the book, glancing at James to see if he was listening. “That's where we're headed, by the way. Appletree Bay Campground, it's on an island in the middle of Lake Champlain. You can rent rowboats there.”

He nodded but kept his focus on the hilly, forest-hemmed highway. He checked the rear view mirror, something she noticed he did more frequently than normal in the two days she'd been letting him drive, and then quickly glanced at her. “So it's a lake... monster? Like Nessie?”

“Not exactly,” she said, skimming the page in front of her. “I mean, in some reports... yes? But in some it sounds more like... a legless, finned crocodile. Most people agree it has big, sharp teeth though. Ugh, but then some people say it _does_ have legs. All these inconsistencies almost make me wonder if we're dealing with multiple critters, like, different species of cryptids or something. Oh! Here's a fun fact. People have been seeing something in the lake since before Europeans even came to North America. The Algonquin tribes actually had their own name for it, they called it the 'Tatoskok.'”

“But we have to call it 'Champy'?”

She rolled her eyes, wiggled her feet on the dashboard as she settled more comfortably into the passenger seat. “Yeah, that is... not good. It's named for the lake, which is named for the dude who founded Québec. So this Champlain dude gets a giant, international border-crossing lake _and_ a monster named after him, yet nothing is named after Darcy Lewis. Life is cruel.”

Teasingly, he asked, “You want something named after you?”

They were reaching the top of another hill, so she turned to her window, peering out over the expanse of red and yellow-flecked sugar maples that rolled all the way to the overcast horizon, then murmured, “I wanna accomplish something. I want to be remembered when I'm gone. Don't we all?”

He nodded mutely, and shot her a tight smile when she shifted back, her face looking younger and more vulnerable than he'd ever seen it before.

§

#### Jersey City, New Jersey

The beanie-clad blonde pulled her jacket more tightly around her, then hauled open the massive steel door of a dusty, unused warehouse sitting on the Hudson River, glancing around her cautiously before slipping inside. Sharon Carter took a moment to assess her surroundings and let her eyes adjust to the dim, cavernous interior before hustling across the muddy floor towards the huddle of agents sitting in the shadowy far corner.

Director Fury nodded at her as she approached, and gestured to the one empty folding chair in the circle. She glanced around, she was the last to arrive. The other chairs were already occupied by Hawkeye, Black Widow, Agent Coulson, Deputy Director Hill, and... Captain America. Her breath stuttered at the sight of him, and Agent 13 realized that even after all these years, even after how hard-bitten and cynical she thought she'd become, it was still possible to feel astonishment.

He was classically handsome, and having made this observation, her next thought was that _of course_ he was. Aunt Peggy had always had impeccable taste in everything, including men. His brown leather jacket hugged his massive shoulders and although he had a slightly constipated, distressed expression on his attractive face, Sharon decided then and there that when the time came (and it would come, she vowed optimistically)... she wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers.

She lowered herself onto the rickety folding chair, and Nick introduced her to the man as Agent 13. She shook hands with him, then briefly exchanged greetings with her fellow agents. Clint and Natasha looked like they'd come straight from a war zone, and Sharon noticed that her usually flawless crimson hair was slightly singed on one side, that he seemed to be missing a jacket but wore a deeply perturbed frown on his soot-covered face. We happy few, we band of brothers, she thought sardonically.

“So,” Nick leaned back in his chair, looking as cool and calm as ever in his signature black leather duster, his eye patch masking any discernible emotions. “Who wants to start?”

“I will. Clint and I just visited Camp Lehigh,” Natasha began then paused, her eyes flicking over to the Captain's face. He remained impassive, gesturing for her to continue. “We found the source of the encrypted files from the Lemurian Star. It was... Arnim Zola.”

“HYDRA,” the Captain growled, his brows drawing together. He shook his head. “How is that even possible? I was told he was taken prisoner by the allies in 1945.”

Phil cleared his throat. “This isn't exactly the welcome to the 21st century we were hoping to give you, Captain Rogers. Zola was offered a position in SHIELD after the war, helping us to combat HYDRA and build our organization. But he died in... what, '72?”

“That he did,” Clint drawled, flinging one arm over the back of Natasha's chair. “But that evil bastard figured out how to transfer his consciousness to a hard drive. Er... a rudimentary, 1970's version of a hard drive.”

“How?” Sharon asked, leaning forward intently.

"Well, the man _was_ a genius," Coulson answered lightly.

Clint snorted, but when they looked to him, he confessed, “Beats the hell outta me.”

Natasha made a dismissive noise in her throat, and shook her head. “It doesn't matter. What matters is what he told us while he was trying to stall for time. The whole place was booby-trapped, and... someone at SHIELD... deployed missiles the minute we entered the bunker where his computers were housed. We didn't stick around to see who would show up, but...”

“Don't bury the lede, Nat. Zola installed HYDRA into the damn foundation of SHIELD. Right from day one, and every day since then. They've been growing, manipulating things from inside the very mechanism built to prevent them from ever taking power. And what's better, he's been working on a little program specifically designed to target anyone who might be a threat to HYDRA. Plan is to use it once something called Project Insight gets started.”

Maria's lips went white, pressing into a thin line that belied her otherwise calm expression, and Phil leaned his elbows onto his legs, his head drooping tiredly. The group fell into stunned silence.

The Captain broke the silence, asking, “Are you... are you both alright?”

“We're fine,” Clint responded quickly. “Thanks to Nat's foresight.”

Nick arched an eyebrow curiously and she gave her boss a small, wry smile. “You told me to take everything I had. So I borrowed some Vibranium body armor, and one of the Captain's shield prototypes from R&D. But Hawkeye's selling himself short, he was the one who brought enough explosive arrows to reopen the doors and get us away from the central blast zone when Zola tried to lock the place down.” Nick nodded approvingly, and they all fell silent again.

Sharon roused herself from her reflection and said, “Well, that puts my discoveries in a different light.”

“Agent 13?” Maria prodded.

“As you well know Commander Hill, I've accumulated quite a bit of vacation time which I've been meaning to use, so last week I decided to take myself on a little European getaway. While I was there, I got in touch with some of the agents I believe we can still trust in Munich, Paris, London, and Budapest. They provided me with some interesting information about recent busts of underground HYDRA cells.”

“We're on tenterhooks here, Carter,” Clint grunted. 

Steve's eyes narrowed at the mention of her last name, looking to Phil, who nodded in acknowledgment of his unspoken suspicion. She continued, “Two things were unusual about the cells. One, the facilities they've found lately have been unusually well-resourced. Almost like they were stockpiling for an impending battle. Or more likely, after what you've told me, a takeover. And two, they had very detailed information about us and our operations. Including the conception of Project Insight.” She looked to Nick meaningfully.

Clint frowned. "That's the one that Zola mentioned," he said slowly.

Nick fumed, “How? That's still in development, it's years away from being put into action! Why hadn't the European offices alerted us about this?”

Sharon shook her head, answering, “They had. And apparently it was intercepted by HYDRA's double agents, because the message they'd received in return was that bad intel had been fed to the HYDRA cells from _our_ double agents. I took a look at the information they'd gathered. It was absolutely _not_ false. They knew exactly what SHIELD was doing, when we were doing it. They knew about Captain being found in the ice on the same day we did. And... there's more.”

“Seriously!?” Maria exclaimed, her anger breaking through her usually stoic demeanor. “More than SHIELD being a puppet of HYDRA?”

“More than that,” Sharron nodded regretfully, “I think this goes higher up. It's hard to say who from the paper trail, someone was definitely trying to cover their tracks, but it looks as though some of the cells... they were receiving directives from a member of the World Security Council.”

Nick sighed tiredly, and they all were struck dumb with horror once more.

Finally, it was the Captain who spoke up. “Well, I'm awfully grateful to be alive, and not stuck in the ice anymore, but... I just wish I hadn't been brought back on the brink of World War III.”

Natasha snorted delicately, but Maria was in control of herself now. Evenly, calmly, she said, “We need to figure out where to go from here. Romanoff has informed me she's been scouring Coulson's personnel files, and I think I could be of assistance there. You too, Agent 13.” Sharon nodded, and glanced towards Nick.

“I'm going to try... _somehow_... to do some digging around the Security Council,” he said distractedly, then shifted his focus to Steve. “Captain Rogers, I know it's a lot to ask, but... no one would look twice if you were assigned to the STRIKE unit. You may be able to help Agent Barton keep an eye on this Rollins character and...” He paused, looking towards Clint.

“Rumlow. He's dirty, I can smell it,” the archer joked, patting the side of his crooked nose.

“...Agent Rumlow. If they're part of this, then we need to be there when they take in this HYDRA assassin, the Winter Soldier. They might also lead us to other double agents. Are you ready to get back to work?”

Rogers looked around the circle at them, and Sharon's ego did a backflip when his eyes lingered on her for a second longer than the others, before he responded quietly. “I woke up ready, sir.”

Nick nodded, turning to Phil. "Coulson, I'm assuming you can keep things running normally while Hill and I are looking into this?" The agent nodded, and with that, the Director stood. “Good. We'll reconvene in a few days at Calvert Cliffs, once we have a clearer picture of HYDRA's influence and who's chosen which side.” Without waiting for a response, he pivoted and strutted off towards the entrance.

“Ten four, Colonel,” Clint said dryly to his receding figure, then rolled his eyes. “Listen, that guy may run on black leather and secrets, but the rest of us need food every now and again. Especially after almost being blown to pieces by our own people. Anybody else up for pizza?”

§

#### Grand Isle, Lake Champlain, Vermont

After James had parked the Pinzgauer in their designated spot at the campsite, Darcy tugged on his arm impatiently as she led him across the dried grass of the picnic area, towards the marina. She ducked into a rental place near the boat launch, and James leaned against the storefront while he waited for her. He looked out at the roiling, white-tipped waves with misgiving. The day had dawned with a brilliant red sky, and an old adage about sailors taking warning drifted back to him. As he was staring up at the gloomy, low-hanging clouds, they began to spit rain. It got heavier with each minute Darcy spent inside the shop, and he peeked over his shoulder, through the front window, to see that she was working her way through a pile of paperwork. By the time she finally reemerged, the wind had kicked up, strong enough to pull her loose curls into her face, and the rain was pouring down in a solid sheet beyond the small canopy of the shop.

The clerk followed her out, calling, “Ma'am! Here, you and your husband should take some of these ponchos.” Darcy glanced up through her lashes towards James, who was doing his best not to react to the title the man had given him. He grabbed the rain gear, nodding gratefully at the man and following Darcy down to the muddy bank where the rowboats were sitting.

“Maybe we should wait until tomorrow, doll,” James called over the howling wind.

He handed her the bright yellow poncho and she pulled it over her head, eyeballing him stubbornly. “You chicken, Barnes?” she teased, grinning as she began to slide one of the rowboats down into the water. He rolled his eyes and shoved his weight against the bow to help her.

“You wanna row?” she shouted, and he nodded, so she jumped into the front of the boat, sitting on the forward bench. He quickly yanked his own poncho on, pulling up the nylon hood over the hood of his sweatshirt. Then he grabbed the boat by the gunwale, spinning it slightly, before carefully seating himself on the bench at the aft, grabbing the handles of the two oars.

“Which way?” he asked over the clamor, and she pointed towards the peninsula that separated them from the large central body of Lake Champlain.

“Out of the bay! Around that point and down south, towards the center of the lake!” she called.

He rowed silently away from the launch, focusing on balancing the force from the corded muscles in his right shoulder and the excessive cybernetic strength in his left. Though he was pushing them forward quickly, the turbulent waves continuously lifted them up and redeposited them akimbo, impeding their progress. Once they reached the mouth of the bay, the ever-stronger winds gusted at them and began to drag them forward rapidly. James was forced to use the oars as anchors to slow and steer their progress, rather than as propellers. He wasn't sure if Darcy was speaking, could hear nothing but the furious, roaring storm, the metallic hammering of rain on hard, cold water. When he looked up from the oars he saw that she'd spun in her seat, was kneeling with her hands on the bow and leaning over to peer into the murky waves beneath them. “Darcy!” he bellowed as loud as he could, and she looked back over her shoulder at him.

“We should go back!"

She shook her head, and faintly he heard her cry, “No way!............all stirred up from the....................best chance..........not wimping out this time, James!” She went back to leaning over the bow, and James dispiritedly peered around at the gale that had engulfed them.

Just as he heard the first low rumble of thunder, the boat was lifted on a exceptionally savage wave, the bow pushed so high that he felt as though he was looking up, vertically, at Darcy's back, before they crested and rushed down into the deep trough below, the lurching motion throwing her from her perch. He didn't see her go over, was distracted by trying to keep himself anchored to his seat; all of a sudden he heard her shrill cry, which turned waterlogged as she was swallowed by the next fierce wave, saw her yellow-sleeved arms flail desperately to keep herself above the water for a horrible second, then disappear.

He did not even consider his options. He simply stood up, then dived into the frigid water, towards where he'd last seen her. When his mechanized hand made contact with her leg, the last wave having twisted her around, he felt icy fear clamp down on his heart and pulled as hard as he could. He gave a great heave, coming back up for air, but only her right foot joined him. She was still discombobulated, her heavy coat pulling her down. He reached for her again, catching the loose plastic of her poncho and tugging until her head emerged next to his.

She gasped deeply, eyes squeezed shut, and swung her arms wildly towards him. He spun her, pulled her back tight against his chest so that she would not drag him down, and in a moment she calmed.

“Something bit me!” She pointed down into the water, towards her leg, then shrieked, “Where's the boat!?” He glanced around them frantically, then finally saw it. The wind had already carried it twenty feet from them, and he saw another great wave toss it up into the air, flipping it so that the keel was upside, before it sunk down, disappearing behind the tempestuous water and the solid veil of rain still pelting them. He stared in the other direction; he was just barely able to make out the shoreline of the island.

“Darcy, listen to me,” he shouted, his lips moving directly against her ear so she could hear him, “We're going to swim for shore. I'm going to hold onto you to help you stay above water, but I need you to kick with me. Can you do that?” She nodded, still coughing at the surging water that was continuously washing over both their heads. Moving his legs to keep them afloat, James lifted the arm not holding Darcy and pointed towards the coast. 

“That way,” he shouted, “ _Now_ , doll, kick like your life depends on it!”

§

She was shivering, and he didn't like the purple tint of her lips, the bluish tinge to her hands and face. The laceration on her right calf (bite marks, admit it James, something with very sharp teeth bit her) was still bleeding sluggishly. It'd taken them well over an hour to reach land and by the time he'd pulled her up onto island resort's beach she'd been so tired she'd simply laid in the sand, breathing heavily. He'd picked her up, thrown her over his shoulder, and jogged all the way back to the Pinzgauer.

But she was still in her wet clothes, and he knew she needed to get out of those immediately. She was curled up on the metal floor of the vehicle, breath releasing in white puffs into the cold air, and James could barely think through the panic clouding his brain. Finally, he scrambled out of the vehicle and ran in the direction of the campground's main building. He spoke tersely with the woman at the front desk, pulling a sodden wad of cash out of his pocket and snatching the key from her hand before returning to the truck. He grabbed Darcy and their bags, heaving her over his shoulder once more and marching swiftly towards the small cottage he'd just rented for the night.

Keep her safe, keep her safe. The mantra spun around his head, his dread rising when he lowered her onto the couch inside the cozy rental's main room. She didn't move, was panting lightly.

“дерьмо́!” he cursed, picking her up again and carrying her towards the bathroom while he pleaded in a low rasp, “пожалуйста, не умирайте." 

He yanked the tap open in the shower, allowing the water to warm up as he began peeling the heavy, soaked layers from her body. He swallowed heavily when he got to her underwear, figured he'd leave it on so she could maintain some veneer of privacy once she came to. Never mind that he could see everything through the wet white cotton, he thought, as he sat her on the bathroom's vanity so he could he shuck his own drenched clothing. She slumped over, leaning against the wall, and once he was down to just his briefs he curled his arms under hers, around her shoulders, and walked them backwards, over the lip of the shower, into the stall.

He held her body slightly apart from his, making sure the water didn't get in her face but that she was directly under the lukewarm stream. Slowly he inched up the temperature, until steam filled the air as the water verged on scalding.

She began to squirm against him, then opened her eyes. “James,” she whimpered, “I'm... I'm so, so sorry. I'm so...”

“Hush,” he whispered in her ear, “I made the choice to go out there too. We were both stupid, alright sweetheart? Rookie mistake. We're new to this gig.”

She chuckled tiredly, leaning in until her forehead touched his scarred pectoral, then shifted so her cheek pressed against his warm skin. “Mmm, how are you not freezing?” she asked.

“It's, uh, an enhancement... SHIELD gave me...” he mumbled, ducking his face behind his wet hair.

“Okay,” she said simply, her arms coming up to wrap around his waist. He willed himself not to get hard at the feel of her soft, cotton-covered breasts pressing into his ribs, her smooth calves rubbing against his. She was standing on one of his feet, her heel pressing down into his toes, and the pressure was slightly uncomfortable, but nothing in the world could have induced James to move her, to allow an inch of space between them now that she was so close.

She was safe. She was okay.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and leaned down, rubbing his bearded face alongside hers, needing more physical contact. He heard her moan, and her breathing quicken. Feeling the blood begin to rush south, his dick twitching with interest, he turned off the tap and pulled her out of the shower, leaning her against the sink. He wrapped a towel around his hips, dropping the briefs from under it, before extending one towards her. Her head had rolled back against the mirror and her eyes were slipping closed so he gently massaged the towel through her hair before wrapping it around her. He cast about the bathroom until he found some peroxide, and cleaned the wound on her leg. (An imprint of something's mouth, he thought, although he pretended he didn't.)

“Can we... Can we sleep for a little bit now, James?” she whispered.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around her waist and walking her to the bedroom. He grabbed a set of her sweat pants and a thick, warm sweat shirt from her bag then looked up hesitantly, to where she'd collapsed on the bed. “Darcy...” he started, heat rising up his neck and his erection pressing insistently against the towel, “I gotta get you out of that underwear.”

“I've been waiting so long for you to say that, hot stuff,” she murmured dreamily, her eyes still shut, her lips lifting in a sleepy smile.

“Darcy.”

Her eyes opened, and he was standing in front of her, holding her clothes out for her. “Okay,” she sighed, rolling herself up off the bed and pulling her bra over her head then shoving the underwear down her legs. Even while standing, her eyes began to drift closed again and James swallowed heavily, averted his gaze, begging his raging libido to calm down as he helped her don the warm, dry clothes then burrow down under the thick comforter.

“Will you stay with me?” she breathed.

“Yeah, uh, I will doll, just... give me a second,” he muttered, as he backed out of the room and made for the bathroom. He could cuddle up to her for the night without being inappropriate, he could be a gentleman. But he couldn't do it without dealing with this... situation... first.

§

James woke the next morning to the smell of something baking and fresh, hot coffee. He groaned tiredly and stretched, then threw the covers back and walked out into the open main room of the cottage. Darcy had turned on a radio in one corner, from which the soft honking of a trumpet and the gentle jangling of piano keys could be heard playing. It was an old jazz standard, and it caught at some wisp of a memory then vanished the moment he focused on it.

He turned to where she was piling the latest batch of hot pancakes onto a plate, which she then transferred to the table. She glanced at him shyly. “Hi,” she breathed.

“This is... nice?” he offered, tilting his head and cocking an eyebrow at the table dressed with fresh orange juice, a pot of coffee, Vermont maple syrup and still-sizzling bacon.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, “the campground general store is surprisingly well-stocked.” His gaze shifted to the window, looking out across the grounds, the shop fuzzy in the distance. The weather was still gloomy, although the deluge of yesterday had been reduced to merely a steady, solid drizzle.

“You went out there?” he asked.

“It seemed like the least I could do was make you breakfast, after, you know, you saved my life and everything,” she muttered, turning to him. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and she bit her lip, blinking them back. “James... Seriously. I'm such an idiot. We shouldn't have gone out there, I was just... I was so mad at myself for being such a coward in Jersey...”

“We're okay, Darcy. We're safe,” he responded, reaching around her to turn off the burner. “Now let's eat.”

Later, after he'd devoured well over two dozen pancakes and finished most of the bacon, he found himself tapping his foot in time to the big band tune that had come on the radio. “Hey, I know this one,” he said, surprise dawning on him, “This is Ella Fitzgerald.”

Darcy hadn't said a word during breakfast, had barely been able to meet his eyes, but now she shot him a curious glance. He felt joy flooding his system; they'd been in serious danger, and they'd made it through in one piece. He was here, with Darcy, he'd just finished a fantastic breakfast, he had a purpose that he was fulfilling, and for right now, everything was just fine.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, standing and drawing her from her chair, his hand in hers. “Dance with me.” She was looking at him like he'd lost his mind but he pulled her close anyway, then began to spin her around the cottage, leading her through the Lindy Hop and the Charleston for one song, then two, until at last her dejection began to melt away and she laughed gleefully, the morning's infectious sheen of hope and cheer irresistible to his vivacious woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “дерьмо́" .... Shit!   
>  "пожалуйста, не умирайте" ... Please, do not die.


	9. Loveland Frog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is vital to note that the tales of the Loveland Frogmen did not truly originate in 1955.  The Native American population was familiar with a creature, or species of creatures, they called Shawnahooc (River Demon).  The creature was described as being a large reptile that could walk on two legs.  The creature lived specifically along the banks of the Little Miami River.  It is said that this creature threatened the indigenous tribes until they sent their greatest warriors to confront the demon.  After the fray was decided, the Shawnahooc is said to have gone into hiding.  When the Native Americans were driven from the territory by encroaching settlers, the Shawnahooc is claimed to have returned to the river banks."
> 
> ######  [WeekinWeird.com, "Classic Cryptid: The Legend of Ohio’s Loveland Frogmen"](http://weekinweird.com/2012/07/24/classic-cryptid-legend-loveland-frogmen/)

#### Verona, New York, somewhere along NY-365 West

“Wait, seriously James? You grew up in Brooklyn and never once ate at Totonno's? It's like, an institution. Even in your day. How is this possible?”

“The Great Depression is how, Darce. Austerity. When I was real young we ate fresh fruit and vegetables, but my family never had much money and the Crash of '29 hit us hard. Most of my adolescent years were spent eatin' bean loaves and liver. Ma used to make this dish with fried onion and peanut butter, foulest thing I've ever tasted. Maybe a gristly piece of steak fell off the back of a truck every now and again. Used to pilfer sweets from the local five-and-dime, that's about as good as food got... I'd say I ate better as a soldier than I ever did as a kid.”

“This is totally unacceptable. Some day I'm gonna to take you on a magical mystical pizza tour of the five boroughs. Don't worry, we'll fix the tragic deprivation of your upbringing.”

“You're very generous, doll.”

“It's the least I can do for the man who saved my life. Hey, the turnoff's coming up here, I-90 West. You know, I had no idea there were so many lakes upstate.”

“You thinking about going for another boat ride?”

“Ha freaking ha, smart guy. Way too soon. That's gonna be a 'no' on all boats for me for the foreseeable future. Actually though, all that talking about pizza has me wondering if there's anything decent up this way.”

“Don't you normally use your phone for things like that?”

“Valid point. Hey, don't miss the exit here.”

“Yeah, I see it sweetheart, you just focus on finding us some chow, huh?”

“Sir, yes sir, Sergeant Barnes.”

§

#### Washington D.C.

“Rumlow, good to see you... You okayed Director Fury's request to put the Cap on the STRIKE team, huh? Really shot myself in the foot when I made that guy director of SHIELD. Look... I've had a very bad day. Please tell me you have good news for me.” Alexander Pierce plunged Agent Rumlow into conversation the moment the agent climbed into the backseat of the statesman's SUV in the parking garage of the Triskelion.

“We don't have the Asset in custody yet, sir-” he began, as they left the subterranean level and headed out into the bright afternoon sun.

“Well that's not what I wanted to hear,” Alexander said in a congenial tone, although his eyes bore into Brock's coldly.

“But we do have this,” the agent continued, opening the manila folder he'd been holding and handing over a magnified still from a security feed. The image showed a man, clearly the Asset, standing in the middle of a snack aisle.

Alexander nodded although his foul mood did not lift, and he sighed, asking, “Where was it taken and when?”

“A gas station and convenience store chain, Wawa, in southern New Jersey. About a week ago,” Brock said quietly, cautiously.

“Not good enough,” Alexander spit out. “You do realize that by opening up this operation to the STRIKE unit we now have SHIELD agents on his tail as well as our own? Agents like Clint Barton and Captain god damn America? You have _any_ idea what happens if they find the Asset before we do?”

“Our analysts are working as hard as they can, sir. They're combing through a lot of data.” Brock's tone was deferential, with only a hint of defensiveness. He ducked his head, glancing at the other photo in the folder.

Alexander studied the man in the picture. “What's he looking at?”

“This woman.” Brock pulled out the other photo, from the same shop, of a short, dark-haired woman preparing two coffees. “In the video, he walks across the store and joins her. They speak together, they look friendly, and then they leave in her vehicle.”

“Who is she?”

“The astrophysicist's intern, from New Mexico, sir.” Brock frowned at the photo of the girl then glanced up in surprise when Alexander began laughing heartily.

“Oh, hoho, oh no. Oh shit. The Winter Soldier found himself a little winter girlfriend? That's what this is all about? God damn it, Rumlow. Tell your team to work harder. Sleep at the office, no more lunch breaks, pay them double triple overtime. Whatever it takes. We have no idea how unhinged the Asset could be, don't know what influence this woman has over him. We need to find him yesterday. We need to get him back in the chair and onto the ice before his mind starts deteriorating. Or healing. Either one is not good for us.”

“Yes sir,” Brock said. The car was parked around the corner from the Capitol building, and Alexander motioned to the door to indicate that Brock would be walking back to the Triskelion. Brock sighed, went to open the door. He hated these SUV meetings.

“And, Rumlow?”

Brock turned, eyeing the older man leerily. “Do _not_ let Rogers see that photo, and _when_ you locate the Asset, do _not_ bring the Captain on the retrieval mission. They have... history together. It's bad enough he's on the STRIKE unit, just... keep him and Barton as in the dark as possible. Use any means necessary. Is that clear?”

“Crystal, sir.”

§

#### Erie, Pennsylvania, somewhere along I-90 West

“Hey, watch it, asshole! God, Pennsylvania drivers really suck. Why is everyone so aggressive in this state?”

“Probably doesn't help that you're not paying attention to the road, Darce. What're you looking for?”

“Miss Saigon. I know it's in here somewhere, it's just... can you look through this bag of tapes? I know I remember buying it.”

“This it? What's this one about?”

“Actually, it's a beautiful story about American soldiers during the Vietnamese War and the women they left behind.”

“American... we fought a war in Vietnam?”

“Oh... James. Now you definitely need to listen to this musical.”

“...Tell me what wars we've fought since 1945.”

“...Uh.... Let's see... Korea, Vietnam although it was never officially declared a war so some idiots insist that legally it was just a police action, the Cold War with the Soviet Union, the Gulf War, then later Iran-Iraq and Afghanistan, not to mention our intervention in the former Yugoslav-”

“I... I... I think I remember some of that. The Cold War, maybe. Afghanistan, too. But, uh, the Gulf War _and_ Iran...Iraq? Why we were doin' so much fighting on the Arabian Peninsula?”

“Still are, actually. The short answer? Oil and terrorism. The long answer is... way too long. Fun part of studying political science, learning about the many, many ways in which people are terrible to each other. Wait, you didn't know about any of those?”

“I... I've mostly done covert operations. Since, uh... Since the war. World War Two, I mean. I was... uh, off... it was off the grid stuff. Deep undercover, not... not a lot of access to current events. I think I need to borrow your phone for a while, Darcy... can you open the internet for me?”

“...Sure James, here, take it. You're on the Wikipedia article for 'American Wars'. Anything you want to know more about, as long as it's underlined and in blue, you can click on it and it'll take you to the article.”

“ _...ни хуя́._ ”

“Maybe I'll just, um, find some classical music on the radio, yeah?”

“...Thanks...”

§

#### Calvert Cliffs State Park, Maryland

“Captain Rogers, you've been making any progress with the STRIKE team?” Nick Fury asked from where he sat slouched assuredly on the bench, looking out at the pale sand and imposing cliffs, the blue sky, the restless ocean. Natasha sat beside him, typing away at something on her phone. Sharon Carter leaned against the guardrail separating the wooden boardwalk from the beach. She glanced to her left, at Steve, then shifted to watch the ospreys circling above, out over the sparkling water.

Anyone watching the three of them might suppose they were a ragtag support group of some sort, having an informal meeting. The wind carried their words away, up into the ether, a dull whistling drone that would ruin any hope of recording them. They had a clear view up the several miles of accessible beach and it was nearly deserted, just a few fossil hunters meandering in the distance.

Steve shrugged. “Not really. Rumlow likes me, Rollins doesn't. Neither man trusts me one lick.”

Suddenly the heavy clomp of booted footfall could be heard along the boards that brought tourists through the surrounding wetlands to the sea and Clint appeared from behind a swaying wall of smooth alder shrubs, carrying a manila folder. He strode towards them quickly.

“What'd I miss?” he called out cheerfully.

“Rogers hasn't made any progress, and you're five minutes late,” Natasha drawled in a bored tone. “What've you got, Clint?”

“Unlike our fearless man with a plan, I _have_ made some progress. Check out these photos my old pal Rollins had stored in his office desk drawer.”

They passed the security camera photos of the Winter Soldier and Darcy Lewis around without comment, but when Sharon handed them to Steve, the last to inspect them, he gasped audibly and his brow furrowed. He didn't lift his eyes from the photo of the HYDRA assassin.

Natasha, having seen what he saw, watched him cannily but said nothing. “How'd you get these?” Sharon asked Clint sharply.

“Well, Agent 13, Rollins is, as we all know... not the sharpest tool in the shed. Like I said, they were in his desk. In his office. Which he locked, so I guess we can all give him an A for effort. He forgot, however, that like most offices in the Triskelion, the ventilation shaft not only crosses his ceiling space, it also has a convenient opening into his office for, y'know, ventilation purposes. And the ventilation shaft? Well, that's my favorite way to get around.”

Sharon screwed up her face at Clint's ridiculously smug smirk, then peered back at the photos. “I... I know that girl. She's, um, where have I seen her? Oh! She's the Intern.”

“Yep,” Clint said, nodding knowingly.

“Whose intern?” Nick asked, leaning forward when Steve handed the photos back to the Director for a closer look.

“Doctor Foster's. She's supposed to be in Norway,” Sharon murmured. “And she's with... the HYDRA hitman?”

“She doesn't look afraid or upset,” Natasha observed. “Almost like... they're together.”

“So... we're sure... _that's_ the Winter Soldier?” Steve asked at last, a crestfallen expression dulling his blue eyes. Natasha winced. “Did you know, Agent Romanoff?”

“Know what?” Clint asked, looking between them.

Natasha sighed. “I suspected, but... it's been so long, Steve. No one's ever been able to get this good a look at him. I swear, I would have told you if I had known for sure.” Steve nodded, shifted slightly to look across the sand to the cliffs, blinking furiously.

“Uh, hello? Know what? Anyone? Bueller?” Clint asked again, more impatiently this time.

“The Winter Soldier is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” Nick answered, shaking his head in disbelief. “Member of the Howling Commandos.”

“But..” Steve started, then stopped, his jaw working silently, “The things... Natasha told me... That's... That's not Bucky. He couldn't have done those things.” Sharon gently rubbed his arm and he shot her a grateful look.

“He might not have, not exactly,” Natasha reasoned. “HYDRA could be... very persuasive. Abnormally so. They had many methods, but they all ended one way... Compliance.”

“If he's with the Intern, uh...” Sharon faltered, forgetting her name.

“Lewis,” Clint provided.

She nodded at him, then started again, “If he's with Lewis, then I think we should consider the possibility that HYDRA is going to come after Selvig and Foster again. Knowing what we know," she nodded at Natasha, "HYDRA sent Jack Rollins to New Mexico. We need to alert the agents who have been shadowing them in Norway. It's only Ramirez and Jones, and if they don't know that HYDRA has double agents... someone might come for the scientists without our agents realizing until it's too late.”

“I'll handle it,” Nick said with finality.

“Which leads us to this,” Natasha spoke in a somewhat hushed tone. “Sharon, Maria and I have finished compiling our list. Phil and Maria have already begun quietly alerting everyone at the facilities outside of DC about the plan but Steve, take a look at it. Memorize the names on it, please.”

Natasha handed Steve her phone, and Steve scrolled down the list of agents' names, his eyes scanning it quickly. “What is this?” he asked uncertainly.

Natasha glanced at Sharon, then back at Steve. “It's everyone we've confirmed is operating as a HYDRA spy inside of SHIELD.”

“How many?” Fury asked, rubbing his hand over his face when Steve handed him the phone.

Sharon winced, not enjoying her role as the bearer of such bad news. “About half of the active agents."

Clint let out a long, cynical whistle as he peered over Nick's shoulder. “Rollins is on that list, yeah? So is Rumlow. But they're supposed to be helping us find the Winter Soldi... Well, shit. Guess we know why they weren't in a sharing mood with those photos,” he muttered.

None of them had anything to add to that.

§

#### Lebanon, Ohio, somewhere along I-71 S

“I didn't know you had three sisters. These wedding shots are nice, by the way."

"Thanks! That was Elinor's, the oldest. It was a great day despite how crazy shy she is, like the caterer brought chicken and salmon entrees instead of the pasta and steak she'd chosen and paid for but she refused to complain? Ugh. Classic Elinor."

"How'd your folks get the photos into your phone?”

“Uh... the camera? That, you know, comes on the phone? Jesus, you weren't kidding about them keeping you off the grid. You know how smartphones work, right?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I do. Just never used 'em to take pictures.”

“So you've never taken a selfie? That is a literal crime against humanity.”

“...Anyway, I had three sisters too.”

“Are you the oldest, the baby or... the dreaded middle child?”

“Oldest, why?”

“I'm a firm believer in birth order-”

“'Course you are.”

“No, hear me out! I think the order you're born in really does affect your personality. Or you're born an only child and that messes you up in a totally different sort of way.”

“So what are you?”

“The baby, can't you tell?”

“...No?”

“Oh I'm a _classic_ youngest child. I'm a people pleaser, but I'm also pretty irresponsible and kind of flaky. And needy.”

“I don't agree with that.”

“You have to say that, I'm your ride.”

“I stand by my opinion.”

“...You know what, James Buchanan Barnes? You're alright. In fact, you're a real mensch.”

“You're pretty swell yourself, Darcy Lewis.”

§

#### Washington, D.C.

Director Fury sat at his desk early on Monday morning, calmly composing an email to be sent to about half of the employees and agents of SHIELD. It was a coded message, one they'd all been required to memorize during their preliminary training. As long as they had paid attention, and remembered the protocol, they would know that they were not to show any awareness that anything was amiss, nor were they to discuss the email with anyone else. They were, however, meant to leave the Triskelion at the earliest possible opportunity to do so logically, or not to come in if they read the email while still at home, and they were to immediately get themselves to as safe and secret a location as they could find.

He finished typing, and looked back at his missive. It read,

> Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D,
> 
> Why, I _have_ not another tear _to shed_ :  
>  Besides, _this_ sorrow is an _enemy_ ,  
>  And would usurp upon _my_ watery eyes  
>  And make them blind with tributary tears:  
>  Then which way shall I find _Revenge_ 's cave?  
>  For these two heads do seem to speak to me,  
>  And threat me I _shall_ never _come_ to bliss  
>  Till all these mischiefs be return'd again  
>  Even in their throats that have committed them.  
>  Come, let me see what task I have to do.  
>  _You heavy people_ , circle me about,  
>  That I may turn me to each one of you,  
>  And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.
> 
> As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight;  
>  Thou art an exile, and thou _must not stay_ :  
>  Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there...  
> 
> 
> Sincerely,  
>  Colonel Nicholas J. Fury  
>  Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

He nodded with satisfaction. He'd always enjoyed the Bard.

§

#### Loveland, Ohio

All told, it took them three days to get from Vermont to Ohio. It was really only twelve hours on the road, and they probably could have done it in less time, but Darcy's leg wound made it difficult for her to drive for long stretches of time and although James had offered to do all of it, she'd insisted that she wanted to take some time to enjoy the Autumn foliage. They'd slept in the Pinzgauer at various campgrounds along the way, and during the day neither mentioned that one of them kept creeping closer to the other sometime in the night, nor did they discuss the fact that this had resulted in them waking up each and every cold morning on top of each other, flushed and entwined.

Darcy was also not mentioning how confusing she found it that SHIELD had kept James in the dark about so many things relating to technology and history and pop culture.

James was also not mentioning his mounting anxiety as he waited for HYDRA to show up and burst this idyllic daydream he'd been having, where he was just a guy with a metal arm driving around, goofing off with his girl.

The other thing they weren't mentioning was how much time they both spent thinking about that moment in the shower, their water-slicked skin sliding together, his breath hot against her neck and her cold, slim fingers pressing into the muscles of his lower back...

They weren't mentioning that.

Darcy squealed happily as she opened the door to their room at the Loveland Motel 6, and flung herself onto the queen-sized bed farther from the window. She'd learned from experience that James preferred to be closer to the door, and thought it was a charming and chivalrous quirk of his.

“So,” he teased from where he'd collapsed on the opposite bed, “How do we find a humanoid froggie?"

She rolled over onto her elbows and pretended to gaze thoughtfully into the distance. “Well... I guess we'll need to be down by the riverbanks.”

“Why not camp out in the vehicle then?” he asked.

“Uh... I looked it up. The Loveland Township authorities do _not_ take kindly to squatters. Also? I don't know about you, but I'm in desperate need of a real bed.”

He nodded, smiling faintly. She pushed herself up and ambled in the direction of the bathroom. “Plus, we're probably going to want access to long hot showers after we finish sneaking into the East Loveland Nature Preserve tonight.” With that, she shut the door quietly behind her before he could offer any rebuke for another terrible idea.

§

#### Washington, D.C.

Clint, Natasha and Nick met in the Director's office in the early afternoon, after a noticeable percentage of the staff had left to take their lunch break.

"Are you ready for this?" Nick asked the agents, looking specifically at Natasha. He understood what the leaking of SHIELD files would do to her life. It would affect every person at SHIELD, he knew, but Natasha in particular would have to start from scratch once her past was made public.

She nodded determinedly at him, saying nothing. He looked to Clint who gave him a sassy thumbs up, already holding his loaded bow. They made their way from the office to the elevator without seeing anyone. When they reached their destination, Alexander Pierce's assistant stood up from behind her desk outside his office, opened her mouth to shout at them, then shut it lamely when she found herself looking down the sharp tip of Clint's arrowhead. "Hands please," he requested, as he lowered the bow and pulled out several sets of zip ties. Nick and Natasha moved past him, entering Alexander's office.

"Director!" he cried, in what appeared to be genuine delight. "Agent Romanoff. What a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the plea..." Clint, having finished tying up his assistant, entered the office, depositing her hog-tied body on his expensive couch, then raised his bow and arrow once again, aiming it at the World Security Council Secretary. "Nick...?" he asked, frowning in confusion.

Natasha pulled her pistol from the holster at her thigh and moved towards the statesman, pressing it securely into the man's spine. "Don't worry, Secretary Pierce," she said conversationally, pulling the phone from his pocket and crushing it beneath her heel, "We're just going for a little walk. I strongly suggest you do nothing to make me angry, as you've backed all of us into a corner and we really have nothing to lose by killing you." He swallowed apprehensively, and nodded.

Once again they piled into the elevator, and when they reached the top floor, Nick placed his good eye in front of the screen for scanning, then pressed his right pointer finger to the biometric reader. The doors opened with a pleasant ping, and the muzzle of Natasha's gun in Alexander's back served as incentive enough for him to move towards the transparent computer screen in the center of the light-filled penthouse.

"Pierce," Nick barked gruffly, indicating to him that he should offer his eye up to be read by the computer's scanner. Clint's arrow remained trained on him as Natasha paced over to the computer, where she began typing rapidly. "You ready, Romanoff?" the Director asked. She nodded. He leaned forward, the laser quickly passing over his eye and doing the same to Alexander's.

"So," the man said, at last recovering from his shock, "You sleuthed it out. Do you mind me asking how?"

Nick shrugged. "Not at all, we have some time to kill while Romanoff is uploading the entire database of SHIELD and HYDRA files to the internet. How's it coming, agent?" he asked.

"Eighteen percent," she answered, still focused on the screen before her. Alexander licked his lips nervously.

"You messed up when you sent that numbskull Rollins to New Mexico," Clint taunted.

Despite the severity of the situation, Alexander could not help but chuckle dryly at that. "If that's where I went wrong, the real mistake was sending the Asset."

"That too," Nick agreed. "You know we're going to find him, don't you?" Alexander sneered, and nodded sarcastically. "Unless STRIKE finds him first, of course," he countered pleasantly, as though they were discussing the weather. "And SHIELD, Director? Are you really going to burn down the very house you helped to build?"

"Forty-five percent," Natasha added.

"Needs must when the devil drives," Nick answered. "If there's rot in the foundation, the whole damn thing's doomed, isn't it?"

"Fifty-five."

Clint whistled. "Geez your internet's fast up here, sir. You know us plebs down on floor twenty-five would kill for that kind of upload speed?"

Some of Alexander's bravado began to wear out, his eyes shifting around the spartan, elegant conference room with desperation. "You don't have to do this, Nick," he uttered. "HYDRA is about control, it's about order. We're helping SHIELD bring that to the world. That's what I realized we needed, after Bogotá."

"Seventy-five."

"If that's the lesson you learned from Bogotá, Pierce," Nick sighed, "You weren't really paying attention." Alexander moved over to the window, looking out at the Potomac and the buildings, so far and small from up here. Clint gave Nick a questioning glance but at his superior's slight shake of the head, he did nothing to impede the man.

"Eighty-five."

"Who will keep them safe, Nick? If you do this, there'll be no more SHIELD. Not one with any bite, anyway. Who will hold the monsters at bay?" Alexander asked, turning to face the three spies.

"Someone else, I suspect. There's always Iron Man, the extraterrestrial Thor. It's probably for the best that Captain America's awake and walking among us again. Maybe they'll be able to band together without us helping them," Nick answered ironically.

"Ninety-five."

"I've got kids, Nick. Grandkids." Nick shook his head, and Alexander gave up that tactic immediately. "And you, Agent Romanoff? What about when your personal history hits the internet?"

Natasha looked up from the computer, making direct eye contact with the frightened man. "Upload complete," she said calmly.

§

#### Loveland, Ohio

It wasn't _her_ fault hiking was a messy business. After traipsing around in the mucky, cat-tail lined banks of the Little Miami River until well after midnight without any results, despite it historically being where the Loveland Frog sightings occurred, they jumped in the Pinz and crossed the river, parking on a quiet side street near the Nature Preserve on the eastern side of town.

“Why do we always have to look for these things in the dark?” he'd grumbled as they crept past the entrance and onto one of the trails.

“Shh, stop whining. They're shy, that's why,” she'd hissed.

They proceeded to stumble around for two more hours without seeing anything remotely resembling a man-sized, upright walking frog thing.

They were crossing a tiny, trickling creek when James stepped on a stone he thought was secure, only to find his foot sliding without grip on the slippery algae growing over it. He toppled over into the three inches of water, landing on the sharp, rocky bed of the creek with a gruff yelp of surprise, and Darcy's hand immediately shot out in the dark, her flashlight on him as she helped to pull him up. She didn't let go of his hand until they were securely on the other bank.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, and he nodded curtly, at which point she shined the flashlight down at his soaked clothes and began laughing. Once she started it was impossible to stop and soon enough she was bent in half, leaning against a nearby elm tree, gasping and breathless from her uncontrollable giggles. When she finally composed herself and stood up again, he was looking at her with bemused concern.

“You alright, doll?”

She nodded, biting her lip to hold back another peal of hysterical laughter she felt creeping up inside of her. “Yeah,” she started, “It's just... you pulled me from the water, and now... I've kind of, like... repaid the favor.”

He grinned, rolling his eyes, and used the surprisingly water-proof lantern to gesture towards the path ahead of them. “I suppose you're right, we're even now. So lead on, Wonder Woman.” She stuck out her tongue at him, enjoying his amused snort, then spun, and began advancing along the trail once more.

So she'd been right earlier, she did need a shower afterwards. Was even considering a second one, except that James was in there now, and he undoubtedly needed it more than her. She wanted to stay awake to ask him if he thought the deep-throated croaking they'd heard but hadn't been able to locate might have been their cryptid's nocturnal call, but she couldn't fight against the heavy weight of her eyelids drifting shut, and she was asleep before the shower even turned off.

§

#### Washington, D.C.

There was a reason Nick Fury had been made director of SHIELD. Once he knew where to look, it hadn't taken him long to whittle down the list of potential HYDRA spies among the members of the World Security Council to one: Alexander Pierce. He'd sighed heavily at that discovery. He'd counted the Council secretary as one of the more trust-worthy men he knew. He'd been the one to assign Nick the position as Director of SHIELD, after all.

After that, procedure and logic had taken over. He'd known what had to be done, and he'd done it.

Nick pulled a few mementos and a couple important pieces of tech from his desk and threw them in a briefcase. He headed out, nodding to the receptionist on his way and leaning nonchalantly against the back wall of the elevator as he descended to the garage level. He climbed into his armored SUV, starting the engine, and showed his identification to the guard at the exit before making his way through the crowded lunchtime traffic of D.C. He ignored the muffled screaming and thumping coming from the package Barton and Romanoff had deposited in his trunk while he was gathering his effects. He looked at the Triskelion in his rear view mirror only once, but he allowed himself no regret.

There was still far too much to be done before it would be time for that, starting with the Alexander Pierce-sized gift he would be leaving at the front door of the FBI headquarters. Let them deal with this loose end... he had bigger fish to fry.

§

#### Loveland, Ohio

She woke to the rustling of sheets, and the mattress sloping down from the pressure of a heavy weight beside her. She glanced at the clock, it was just after three am. “James?” she asked groggily.

He froze, one knee on the mattress, one foot still on the floor. “Yeah, sweetheart, it's me. Can I...?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she breathed happily, reaching for him as he slipped between the sheets, both of them shifting until their legs were entangled, her arms wrapped around his neck, their faces so close even Darcy's weak eyesight could make out his blown pupils in the darkness. She felt him sigh deeply, his heavily-muscled body going lax in her arms. She relished the sensation of his metal fingers stroking up and down the outside of her thigh, his flesh fingers gently rubbing at her scalp, and his lips resting against her forehead as she slipped back into her dreams. “Always yes,” she murmured into his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "ни хуя́"... No fucking way, wow, what the fuck?   
>  Nick's quote is from a monologue Titus gives in Titus Andronicus, which you can read in its entirety [here](http://www.inexplicabledumbshow.com/shakespeare-monologues/male/ta-3-1-275-titusandronicus.pdf) if you're interested.


	10. Wendigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The witiko, or windigo, is a prominent monster in the lore of North American native peoples from Wisconsin to Canada. There are many variations on the tale, but the cannibalistic ice giant that stood taller than the trees is one of the most common visions of the monster. The creature could be defeated by magic or by melting its ice to reveal a lost human in its heart, but one other known defense was to fling excrement at the monster to blind and confuse it."
> 
> ######  Mysteries, Legends, and Unexplained Phenomena, Linda S. Godfrey
> 
> “The Wendigo is simply the Call of the Wild personified, which some natures hear to their own destruction.”
> 
> ######  The Wendigo, Algernon Blackwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, here there be smut and not much else (plotwise), so if that's not your jam and you'd like to skip this chapter, just know that Bucky and Darcy get... closer... while, ahem, "snowbound" for the evening in northern Michigan.

#### Beaver, Michigan, somewhere along I-75 North

Darcy had argued that for them to get into original Algonquin territory, they'd need to head up into Canada and make their way east around the Great Lakes, Erie and Ontario. James had quietly but insistently vetoed leaving the country, explaining that SHIELD was still looking for him and border-crossings were too risky for the time being. After everything they'd been through together, the thought of leaving him to search by herself for the flesh-eating behemoth of Algonquin lore, the Wendigo, was just... unappealing.

So she'd compromised by heading for northern Michigan instead. She glanced over at James, who was dozing in the passenger seat, then returned her focus to the empty vista ahead of her. There wasn't much to look at along this stretch, just endless flat farmland and the cracked, graying one-lane highway. She peeked up at the sky, frowning at the dark, heavy clouds. A fat snowflake drifted down, landing on her windshield. Then another.

“Како́го ху́я,” she muttered, enjoying the guttural punch of the Russian curse that James had taught her.

§

#### Whittemore, Michigan, somewhere along Michigan 65 North

“Hey... James... wake up, you do _not_ want to sleep through this...” Darcy was gently prodding his arm.

“Hmm?” His eyes opened slowly, peering out through the windows of the Pinz. “The fuck is all this?” he asked grumpily. There was a dusting of white snow all around them, about an inch thick, and they'd pulled into the parking lot of a weathered, unpopulated strip mall. Darcy was smiling at him affectionately, and it eased the antsy, hunted feeling of his dreams. He looked down at the cardboard boat in her extended left hand, which contained some sort of divine-smelling junk food.

“Snow, James. I assume you're familiar with it? Guess we're pretty far north right now. I would've thought it'd be too early for it, but...” she shrugged, “It's almost October. Don't worry about that though, worry about _this_.” She nodded down at the gravy and cheese-curd covered french fries.

“What is it?” He arched an eyebrow, glaring at her suspiciously.

“It's poutine, dude, it's not gonna kill you. Well, not in the short run. Trust me, I've already eaten, like, half. Just try it.”

He sighed, and snatched a drenched french fry, the oozing, melted cheese clinging in fine strings as he pulled it away. He popped it in his mouth, watching her watch him with her childlike excitement. He hummed approvingly, nodded his head, and reached for another one.

“This really is something we should be eating in Canada,” she said, grinning, as he devoured two more fries, “But when I saw the chip truck on the side of the road I couldn't resist. Also, I called ahead and I got us a cabin for the night up in the Grayling State Forest. No way we're sleeping in the Pinz when there's snow on the ground. We're probably about a half hour out, and I figured we should grab some supplies before we leave civilization behind.”

He nodded, his mouth still full of poutine, then responded, “Whatever you say, sweetheart. You going to eat any more of these?” She laughed and handed the dish over to him, satisfied with her horizon-broadening, artery-clogging victory.

§

#### Monument Campground, Oscoda Township, Michigan

The snug A-frame cabin was charming, and, Darcy thought to herself while blushing furiously, romantic. The deeply slanted roof descended to her shoulder's height at the corners, and rose high above them at its peak, supported by ornately carved red pine beams. The entrance's glass door was nestled in the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front, although the dark clouds still piling snow onto them didn't allow for much light to enter. The entire cabin was just one room, lit by a few dusty lamps, with a kitchenette towards the back, along with a tiny bathroom, and two cozy-looking armchairs sat near a wood stove to one side, the king-sized bed on the other. 

The bed. One. Well, they'd already passed that hurdle, in any case. James crawling into her bed in Loveland had seemingly legitimized the fact that yeah, they were sleeping together at night. Sharing the bed. Waking up with hard, muscled thighs pressed against places and hands holding things and... Jesus. If he didn't make a move soon, Darcy was going to implode from sexual frustration. She was barely holding on to her promise, she wanted more from him.

She looked over to the stove, which he was methodically filling with twigs and kindling, a few small logs. He lit it, watching closely to ensure the spark took, and blew gently on the tiny flame. She heard the quiet whoosh when the fire caught, and after waiting a few more minutes, he added another log then nodded in satisfaction.

“That was... very, like, manly of you. Kind of primal,” she flirted.

He scoffed. “Everyone should know how to start a fire. You don't?”

“Dude, I'm a city girl. I'm not even sure I can light a match,” she joked self-deprecatingly. He rolled his eyes at that, and glanced out the wall of windows. 

“Still coming down,” he observed. She followed his gaze to where a solid two inches of snow covered the conifer forest surrounding their little domicile.

“Yeah,” she agreed softly.

“We going out there?” He crossed the cabin to peer out into the darkness, down towards where they'd watched Cooke Dam Pond's waters gently lap at the snow-covered fir trees around it when they'd first arrived, before hurrying to get out of the cold.

She shrugged. “I mean, we could...”

“You don't want to?” He turned to study her. 

“No! I mean, yes. I mean...” She huffed frustratedly, and bit her lip. “I don't know. Do you?”

He gave her a small smile. “It's your adventure, sweetheart. I'm just along for the ride. But if you don't want to go out there, then...” He turned, and took slow, deliberate steps towards her, until he completely encompassed her field of vision. She tilted her head back slightly to look up into his lust-darkened eyes.

“Then, what...?” she whispered.

He sighed, pulling off his gloves, which he tossed in the direction of the chairs. “I was just thinking... Maybe you'd let me make you feel good. The way you make me feel good, all the time. You're so good to me, Darce and I want...”

Already her breathing was labored, she was panting slightly. His cool fingers slid under her sweater and caressed her lower back. His hand cupped her jaw, and directed her face towards his. She moaned, an embarrassingly needy sound, and pushed up onto her toes to meet him in an embrace, their lips brushing softly. At the first contact, his metal hand jerked suddenly, and then she was flush against him. She could feel how excited he was getting.

“I want that too, James,” she murmured against his lips.

There was a jumble of tongues and teeth and lips, helping hands lifting shirts and sliding jeans, socks, underwear, and then James was tearing the old flannel duvet off the mattress, and she was lowering herself down onto the soft sheets, scooting back until her head reached the pillows. He was crawling after her, his hands on her feet, her calves, sliding up to pull her thighs apart, nipping at their silken, tender flesh. She giggled a little, his feather-light caresses moving up to her ribs and tickling her slightly, and then he was palming her breasts, his thumbs (one so different from the other, unforgiving metal and callused flesh, both like a revelation)... his thumbs were caressing the tight buds of her nipples, and he was kissing her, kissing her thighs, then her folds, and then his mouth was covering her, sliding his tongue along the length of her slit.

She'd been propped up on her elbows, watching him work, and at the first feel of his tongue on her, broad and flat, then gently sucking on her clitoris, she collapsed, eyes trained on the angled ceiling above and panting from the mounting pleasure.

He was really working her over, lips and tongue inside and over and around her, giving equal attention to everything and doubling back whenever she whimpered desperately at a certain spot being laved, a certain amount of pressure being applied. His hands left her breasts, and she replaced them, kneading, as he wrapped his forearms around each thigh and pushed himself up until he was crouching between her legs, Darcy's thighs pushed further apart by his broad shoulders, his hands supporting her lower back. She'd never, ever let herself be this vulnerable with any partner, had never enjoyed this act as much as she was right this minute. She looked up over her elevated mons, at James' face, beard shining with her wetness as he covered her with his mouth, his tongue deep inside her. His eyes were fixed on hers and his gaze was hungry, passionate. She'd never had a partner, judging by the hungry groans he was making, who enjoyed this act so much.

“How are you so good at this?” she whined.

He paused his ministrations, and looked up from her, smiling. “You think we didn't have oral sex back in the '30's?”

She nodded vigorously, haplessly swatting at the hard forearms holding her slightly aloft. “Okay, yes, of course, stupid question, I am humbled, please please don't stop, please, please just keep going...”

He did, returning his worshipful lips and talented tongue to the task at hand, humming against her, one hand positioned on her mound to keep her still when her hips began to buck. His thumb reached down to strum her nerve-filled bud until she seized up, her entire body clenching hard and then releasing, soaring into euphoric reverberation. She was coming so hard she could feel the walls of her cunt quivering, and his mouth was soaked, but he kept going until she patted at his head, whispering breathlessly, “That's... That's so... Okay... I can't...о́чень хорошо́...”

He nodded, and gently lowered her back to the bed, lifting the sheet to wipe his face clean and settling himself on his side next to her. She rolled towards him, her leg thrown over his hip and his arm slid under her then curled inwards, pulling her close. “Such good pronunciation, Darcy. My girl's so smart.”

She sighed, feeling completely wrung out, and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “Am I your girl? Does this... does this mean we're together?”

He studied her, his face serious. “You'd feel good about that?” he asked in a hushed, reverent tone.

“James...” she nodded, “So good.” She hid her face, tittering at the thought of how powerfully he'd just made her orgasm with only his mouth and his hands, how good he'd made her feel.

He nodded. “Then... we're together.” He paused, then added, “Bucky.”

“Bucky?” she asked.

He nodded, his hand brushing up and down her back tenderly. “That's what I used to go by. I'd forgotten but, uh...”

She laughed more boldly at that. “Oh my God, did eating me out just help you, like... remember something from your past?”

“You could say that,” he grinned devilishly.

“Damn, I'm good,” she boasted, sliding her hand down his chiseled abdomen, along the sharp line of his iliac furrow and through the thick, dark hair at the root of his dick, then teasingly running her fingers up, up, and around the weeping head.

“Darlin', you don't have to...” he started.

“Shhh,” she murmured, leaning up to lick her own musky, salty taste off his lips. She ran her hand across her slick cleft, gathering the wetness there, then grabbed him firmly, sliding along the silky skin of his thick member. He groaned, rolling towards her and burying his face in her neck.

“Yeah?” she asked.

He panted against her skin, thrusting into her hand. “Yeah, that's it honey. That's perfect. You're doing so perfect.” 

She smiled, and he pulled his head back to kiss her sloppily as she tugged on him, hard and fast then slow and deliberate, before reaching down to massage his balls. 

“Darcy, sweetheart, please...” he begged so nicely, so desperately, his warm cock pushing at her thigh, so she shoved his shoulder lightly until he rolled over onto his back, then without giving him any warning, she leaned over and swallowed him whole. It wasn't easy, she choked slightly as she hollowed out her cheeks and slid her lips along his substantial length, but it was worth it for the helpless roar he gave, thrusting desperately into her mouth once, twice, then in to the hilt, coming down her throat on the third thrust. She swallowed it all, licked gently at his oversensitive skin until he reached for her, tugging on her arm.

She crawled back up his body, sprawling on top of him, and kissed him sweetly. “You feel good about that?” she joked.

He nodded contentedly, flushed and sweating, arm wrapping around her to grab at her butt cheek. “You're stuck with me now,” he warned.

“Oh yeah,” she answered, smiling against his neck. “We're in it to win it, for sure.”

His eyes were sliding closed as he returned the smile, so she rolled over to the side of the bed where the flannel blanket had been tossed and draped it over them, his arms encircling her and his head burrowing into her hair. Outside, the snow continued to gently pile up, providing them with a momentary shelter from the coming storm. They slept peacefully, dreaming not of murder nor gods nor monsters. Just each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Како́го ху́я"... Why the fuck for? What the fuck for?   
>  "о́чень хорошо́"... Very good!


	11. Nain Rouge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The third annual “Marche Du Nain Rouge“ brought more than 2,000 revelers to the Cass Corridor, meeting in the parking lot in front of Motor City Brewing Works at 2nd Avenue and West Canfield. They made a slow and festive march down to the Masonic Temple after the “nain” briefly appeared above the crowd on a crane, taunting revelers with signs reading “I’m back” and “Losers.”
> 
> The nain rouge, French for red dwarf, is a mythical creature who haunts and terrorizes the city — at least according to legend. The red dwarf has had it out for Detroit for several hundred years."
> 
> ######  [HuffingtonPost.com, "Marche Du Nain Rouge 2012: Detroit Revelers Kick Out The ‘Red Dwarf’"](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/03/26/marche-du-nain-rouge-2012-detroit-red-dwarf-masonic-temple_n_1378490.html)

#### Monument Campground, Oscoda Township, Michigan

Darcy woke early the next morning to find herself alone. She smiled at the impression Bucky's body had left behind in the mattress, and running her fingers over the cool sheets, she deduced that he had risen long before her. Pressing her face deeply into his pillow, she squealed quietly. Then she pushed herself up, leaning around the kitchenette to see if Bucky was in the bathroom. The door was open, no one inside.

She frowned, and turned to look out the window. The snow was about five inches deep, and in the cloudless, crystalline morning, the sun's reflection on the white blanket turned the world into a bright prism of glittering light. She could just make out Bucky's footprints leading away from the cabin door, so she hastily pulled on her pajamas, rain boots, glasses, and wool coat, grabbing her beanie and her phone as she made her way out the door. She stepped carefully in the holes his heavy, booted feet had left in the otherwise unmarred snow, following him. The trail led down to the pond.

About halfway between the cabin and the water, she froze. A massive white wolf was silently creeping out from behind a pine tree to her right and crossing Bucky's tracks, directly in front of her.

She held her breath, remaining motionless.

The wolf noticed her immediately and stilled as well, and for a long moment, they simply stared at each other. The animal was much stockier than any wolf Darcy had ever seen (granted, that had only ever been in nature documentaries and cartoons), with thick, muscular shoulders that hunched up defensively when Darcy reached for her phone.

Two small, white wolf pups leaped out from behind the tree, nipping at each other's tails as they romped through the snow.

Oh Jesus, she thought. It's a mother? She's as tall as my shoulder. Darcy dropped the phone back into her coat pocket and slowly held up her hands. The infant wolves continued playing, yipping and growling excitedly at one another, and bounded off into the cluster of hemlock trees to Darcy's left. Their mother's piercing, icy blue eyes never left hers.

“I wont hurt them, I promise,” she whispered, then added, “Please don't kill me. I think I may have hooked up with the love of my life last night. The cruel absurdity of being mauled to death this morning would be too much.” She didn't think the wolf cared much about the state of her relationship, but her brain seemed unable to provide a better course of action. God, where the hell was Bucky?

The wolf blinked, sniffing at the air, then kicked the snow off its hind legs, shook the moisture from its back, and loped off into the trees after her pups.

Darcy went limp with relief, collapsed onto the ground, and stared up at the azure sky. Feeling giddy after her brush with death, she began to swing her arms and legs, scraping deep furrows into the snow. That's how Bucky found her, five minutes later: burrowed into the soft white powder, her dark, damp hair flowing out in a halo around her head, looking, to him, every bit the celestial being.

He laughed, “Hey there, snow angel. Havin' fun?”

She nodded and hummed an affirmative. “Hey Ja-Bucky, could you help me up?” He reached out his gloved hand and gave a surprised whoop when she pulled, hard. He toppled like a sack of potatoes in the snow beside her, although she suspected he'd let her do it.

“Where ya been, sarge? I woke up to a cold, lonely bed.”

He curled into her, pulling her closer to him, his expression pensive. “Just went for a walk, wanted to think for a while. Sorry you woke up alone, angel. Lemme make it up to you?” She nodded and smiled, her eyes fluttering closed at the touch of his lips against hers.

Then she pulled back to glare at him in mock reproach. “By the way, you definitely missed out, because I'm pretty sure I just saw a Waheela.”

He leaned further towards her, his forehead touching hers. “What's a Waheela, again? That the giant cannibal thing?”

§

#### SHIELD Safehouse, Undisclosed Location

Jack's pacing was going to drive Brock to drink. He looked up from his computer for the third time, giving his fellow HYDRA agent the hairy eyeball, and the man abruptly halted, then crossed the safehouse kitchen and sat down in the chair next to Brock's. He gazed sullenly at the laptops and wires strewn across the table.

“Anything?” Jack asked anxiously.

“More of the same,” Brock grumbled. It was all online, for everyone to see. Their operations, their personal details, the names and addresses of their associates. Even this safehouse would be compromised soon, once the authorities had combed through the information and found the location details for all of SHIELD's little hideaways.

There would be nowhere safe for Brock, or Jack, or any of the thirteen men camped out in the living room. Brock fully understood the magnitude of this leak: it would've taken both Fury and Pierce to access this information, which meant the gig was up. Pierce was in the wind, most likely on the run or in a jail cell, and who knew where Fury was, the bastard.

Brock's head drooped, despondency seeping in. They'd been working around the clock for days, poring over thousands of security feeds, traffic cameras, and social media accounts for a hint of the Asset. There had been nothing since his appearance in Jersey, and now Brock no longer had the Triskelin's massive work force at his disposal. He remembered the shock and horror that had spread through the building when they'd realized they were surrounded by the FBI, that the SWAT team outside was wearing riot gear and had brought MP5's, tanks, missiles... the accouterments of battle. Some of the people were, like Brock, trained for this sort of thing, but some were merely scientists, or computer experts, or paper pushers. Thanks to his being a STRIKE Unit commander, he'd been informed of a secret subterranean-level exit that led to the sewers of D.C., but... he hadn't been able to save everyone.

Everything they'd strived for in ruins, all his brothers and sisters in handcuffs. The STRIKE team had watched from a dummy apartment nearby as hundreds of agents were subdued and frogmarched out of the building.

It _had_ to have been Fury, he thought, because he'd tipped off everyone not working for HYDRA beforehand. He thought about how empty the place had seemed that Monday afternoon, how few people had come back from lunch. He thought about the analysts on his team who'd dipped out, citing the need for the toilet or a cigarette, and had never returned.

They'd been played by the very people HYDRA had spent decades playing.

But Brock wasn't going down like that. STRIKE had grabbed every piece of tech they could on their way out. The way he saw it, there was one person guilty of far worse crimes than his who was still on the run... the Asset. He was Brock's ticket to freedom. With the Asset as a bargaining chip, he might be able to work out some kind of plea deal that would mitigate this disaster. Or at least buy them enough time for one of the international cells to come save their sorry asses.

There was a beep from the laptop to his left and Brock snapped out of his reverie, peering down at the screen. It was one of the PCs devoted to scanning traffic and highway camera photos. It seemed MDOT had caught someone speeding whose license plate had pinged the parameters they'd set. Brock opened the image, and grinned darkly. It was the Pinzgauer, rushing southwards on Interstate 75. The Asset was reading something in the passenger seat.

It had been taken fifteen minutes before.

From over his shoulder, Jack asked, “Think they're headed to Detroit?”

Brock took a moment to contemplate the low resolution of the photo; despite the blurred faces and layer of mud splattering the distinctive vehicle, the subjects were still unmistakable. He nodded, mind made up.

“I'm willing to bet my life on it. Alert the boys, I'm getting the jet ready. Wheels up in ten.”

§

#### Detroit, Michigan

By the time they rolled into town, the deep shadows of late afternoon stretched across the wet streets and all but the most stubborn heaps of grey snow adorning the intersections had melted away, leaving only a slushy, slippery mess in its wake. They drove around for hours, taking in the bustling commerce downtown, the ghostly abandoned neighborhoods where grand old houses were slowing slipping into ruin, the neighborhoods that landed somewhere between metropolis and scary movie, simply street after street of weathered buildings full of people living their lives.

They stopped for a dinner of hot dogs and a shared salad that Bucky insisted on, citing the 'lack of anything green' in their diet.

“You know, I've eaten hot dogs in Coney Island. Don't remember 'em being like that,” he said, as they were exiting Kerby's Koney Island.

Darcy moaned, patting her stomach gently. “Yeah, even for us that was... excessive.” She hauled herself up into the driver's seat. “It seems like your memory's really coming back now, J-Bucky...” she started, hesitantly. He'd brooded for most of the ride down, either focusing his attention entirely on driving or slouching in the passenger seat, his nose stuck in one of her books. Darcy couldn't help but feel somewhat insecure, even after the way they'd affirmed their feelings the night before. She pulled out of the parking space and headed in the direction of the Detroit River, where the small red dwarf they'd be searching for tonight was first supposedly seen during the 18th century Battle of Bloody Run.

“J-Bucky?”

“Sorry, still getting used to it,” she said, downshifting gears to stop at a red light.

He glanced at her nervously. “You can still call me James, if you want. I'm... that's, uh..”

She smiled reassuringly, reaching out and squeezing his hand before gripping the gear-stick as the light changed. “I like Bucky.” She parked a couple blocks away from the water, then plucked her thick winter beanie and a pair of gloves from one of the trash bags before climbing down to the sidewalk. He came around the front of the Pinz to join her and she reached out for his hand, which he offered readily. They walked in silence towards the Detroit Riverwalk, and when they reached it he peered out across the dark river, at the lights of Windsor, his face fixed in a solemn frown.

“That's Canada on the other side, by the way,” she said, trying to start a conversation.

He sighed. “I... I gotta come clean with you, Darcy.”

“What about?” She turned to lean against the guardrail, giving him her full attention. Something about his tone, how quiet he'd been all day, his posture at that moment, all of it together made her stomach heave with nerves.

“Would... could you still care about me, if I was... not a good person? If I was a bad person, a bad man?” He looked down at his gloved hands as he asked, as though they were the most interesting gloves in the world.

“Uh, you're making me nervous here, dude...”

He gave a small, anguished groan. “I had a mission, a purpose. You were supposed to be my mission but you acted so strangely and I couldn't remember a time when I'd ever done anything unpredictable. But I think... I did. Do you understand? I used to be impulsive. I used to be free, and happy. I think... I think somewhere deep down inside of me I remembered that, even though they wanted me to forget it.”

“James, Bucky, whoever you are, please... just... what's going on?” She tugged on his hand anxiously.

“You were my mission, Darcy. HYDRA sent me to kill you. And the scientists, but... I followed you out of Puente Antiguo because I thought all three of you were in the Pinzgauer together.”

“I think I'm gonna be sick,” she mumbled, dropping his hand and turning away from him to gaze at the cityscape across the water before adding, “You said HYDRA were bad people... you... you were with them? You wanted to kill me?”

He huffed. “ _Want_ to kill _you_? No! No, not like that, like how you're thinking. No, I didn't even _know_ you. You were just a photo, you were an assignment. You were-”

“Your mission.” Darcy's voice was barely audible, her expression despondent.

He nodded. “I... I'm sorry. I should've told you before, I should've come clean but I... I wanted to be this fellow you thought I was. James, just a good guy from SHIELD who was going to help you and didn't want any more secrets.”

“So... then... who are you, really?” she asked tremulously.

“I'm Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th, born in March of 1917, older brother to three women who are all dead and gone, best friend to Steve Rogers who the world thought was dead and gone. Killed in action in Italy in 1945, I thought _I_ was dead and gone. But I'm...” He couldn't quite get the words past his throat, the world starting to blur as he pulled in fast, shallow breaths.

Her hand was on his arm, rubbing soothingly. It slid down to hold his mechanized hand once more. “Tell me,” she demanded softly, “I need to hear it.”

Flinching, he exhaled dejectedly, “I am Soldat, the Asset, the fist of HYDRA. I've been called the Winter Soldier, like a legend or a myth from one of your books. But really, I'm worse than anything in those stories you love, less exciting and more terrible. I'm just a butcher and an errand boy. I'm a ghost.”

“James, I-”

“I'm that, too, Darcy,” he cut in, the words flowing freely now that the dam was broken, “I'm the man you thought I was, I know I am. That's the worst of it. In a different world, where HYDRA didn't still have their claws in me and I didn't have so much damn blood on my hands... maybe I coulda been a good guy for you...”

She shook her head. “Don't... don't say that. You are that man, you've been that man for me. I don't understand. How do they have their claws in you? What have you done for them?”

He squeezed his eyes shut as he spoke, hanging his head. “They got these words... like a code. They say them and I'm done for, I'm gone. They say jump and I don't say nothin', 'cause I'm already jumping. If they find us, they'll use 'em. Everything I've gotten back, erased again in an instant. They'll use the words to get me to comply then take me back to the chair for a clean wipe-”

She frowned. “A what?”

Nodding morosely, he explained, “That's how they did it, that's how they got me to do what they wanted. The chair, the... electricity. And the... beatings, and the freezing, and then the burning or the drowning and... I gave up, Darce. I stopped fighting it because they kept wiping my mind, electricity, 'til I didn't remember my own name or face or anything. Nothin' but my orders, and pain, and cold. That's all I understood anymore.”

He pushed off the railing, and made his way along the pavement, stopping and sinking down onto a wet bench. She followed close behind, watching him with concern. “I'm just... I'm no good, angel. I'm spoiled meat and you deserve prime rib but... I can't help wanting you, anyway. I know I should leave you alone, but...”

Dropping onto the bench next to him, she snapped, “Dude, don't you dare break up with me by way of 30's talk! You could've killed me Bucky, James, Soldat, whoever. You had so many chances. You could've gone back and killed Jane and Erik too but they're sitting pretty in Norway. So what gives?”

“One good thing don't make up for all the bad.” He stared out at the water, swallowing heavily.

“But why?” she pushed, “Why me? Why _not_ me?”

A shrug. “I... you surprised me.”

Darcy blinked at that, then reached for him, slung one leg over him and deposited herself in his lap. She leaned in, gently pecking his cheek. He did not respond, sat stoically with his eyes closed so she pressed closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, until he relaxed, shifting his head slightly so he could return the kiss. “I can still do that,” she whispered in his ear, before tiling her head, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Bucky... listen to me very, very carefully. Look at me. Are we together? Are you my man? You said you wanted to protect me, do you still want that?”

“I was wrong to ask that of you, I shouldn'ta-”

“ _Are you?_ ”

He gritted his teeth, groaning, “I... Черт побери! Yes! Fuck. Yes, I still want to protect you. I still want you too, but Darcy I can't...”

She nodded, interjecting, “Then I'm your girl, and you gotta listen to me when I say this to you. I want to protect you, too. I want to help you. Are you hearing me?”

“You can't, not from HYDRA...” He grimaced, shaking his head.

“Yes I can! I can. Don't you tell me what I can't do. Maybe you don't know everything, huh? Bucky, what they did to you was torture. What you did was done under duress. I know you feel what you feel, and you are gonna have to make your peace with that. But being tortured into killing, being brutalized psychologically and physically until you so-called “comply”... baby, I...” she gasped, the tears welling in her eyes then falling unchecked, and after all the things they'd been through, he marveled that this was the moment that made her cry.

“Please, please don't cry. Not for me, I'm not worth it,” he mumbled miserably, brushing at her cheeks.

She sniffed, gathering herself. “Hush, I'm not finished. Listen. It's not your fault. You're not the monster. I don't know who these assholes are but they literally named themselves after a Greek water serpent, and I know intimately just how much those things suck. We _know_ who the monster is, Bucky. And anyway, I... I kept secrets from you, too. You know why I started this whole insane trip?”

He shrugged, his hands brushing up her sides to hold onto her waist. “You thought you saw an alien.”

“Bucky, I _did_ see an alien!” she cried. “Multiple aliens. You know the Norse gods? Thor, the god of thunder and Loki the trickster? Odin the all-father?”

“I'm not following, Darce.”

Once again she leaned into him, whispering into his stubble-covered neck, “They're real, Bucky. Thor fell to Earth because he was banished from Asgard, and we helped him. And his friends came and then his brother sent a giant flame-breathing metal robot that tried to burn the town down and kill all of us. I saw that thing almost incinerate my friends, okay? You don't get to be the final authority on what a monster is. I've seen a monster. I looked a Waheela in the eyes this morning, dude. Do you know what they're famous for? Ripping heads off and being big, mean wolves. Not a great track record. And here I am to tell the tale.”

“That's what a Waheela is?” he asked, looking down at her with one eyebrow cocked in surprise.

She nodded with a small, hopeful smile, continuing, “She just looked at me, Bucky, and all she wanted was for me to leave her and her pups alone. That's not a monster. That's just a creature behaving normally, protecting itself.”

He sighed again. “There's nothing normal about what I've done, Darce.”

“You think anyone in your place would've done better or different?” She pushed back from his body, trusting his hands on her waist to keep her from toppling off of him.

“Steve,” he answered softly.

She snorted. “Oh, forget about Captain Morals and his impossible standards! I'm talking about real people, Bucky. You've been away from Steve so long you've forgotten he's not that character from the trading cards. But I'm talking about us humans who are all fucked up inside, and make mistakes. Steve counts as part of that group too, you know. I don't know if he'd do different, but if they took everything from him that made him who he is... I doubt he'd do better.”

“Angel...” he tried.

“Please don't try to break up with me, James. Not if you don't want to, not for my sake. I know you must be scared and I get that we're in danger, but we're safer together,” she took his head in her gloved hands, peering into his eyes, “I have friends that can help us, you have a friend that can help us. You do _not_ deserve to be alone in this. You've done bad things, I understand. You've come clean, okay? I'm still here. Now would you just sit still for one second and let me love on you?”

He frowned to stop himself from weeping; for the first time since he'd decided not to hurt her in Texas, he allowed himself the possibility that he and Darcy might have a future beyond this road trip of hers, might be able to weather the storm together. 

“I... Иисус Христос. Yeah. Okay,” he murmured, sighing with bittersweet happiness into her embrace.

§

#### Clint's Homestead, Undisclosed Location

Sharon Carter was incredibly frustrated. She was about to lose her third game of Go Fish to the Black Widow, and although she was positive her fellow spy was cheating, she could not for the life of her figure out how.

She glanced into the living room, where Steve was doing push-ups while Clint's son, Cooper, sat giggling gleefully on his back. Steve looked up at her, flushed and a little bashful, and she gave him an encouraging thumbs up. He chuckled, shaking his head, and cried, “Okay, okay!”, when Cooper began smacking him, demanding he return to his exercise.

“Got any threes?” Natasha asked, her lips twitching.

“Dammit, Romanoff, you know I do!” Sharon cried, handing over the last of her cards. She looked at the paltry number of sets she had spread out before her, compared to the sea of cards in front of her opponent. Natasha smirked in earnest, her eyes glittering with amusement. “I win.”

“No shit,” Sharon snarked, standing up and walking around the table to peer over Clint's shoulder at the computers in front of him. Lila, bouncing on his knee and zooming a tiny plastic plane around with a buzzing noise, offered the toy up for Sharon's inspection. “Very nice,” she offered, patting the girl awkwardly on the head, then returned her focus to the screen. “Anything?” she asked Clint.

“You'll know the minute I do, Thirteen, relax,” Clint said distractedly, as he tried without success to catch Lila's interest in the spoonful of baby food he was holding out for her.

Sharon groaned. “We're wasting time,” she griped.

“You're just mad you lost to Nat, and frankly Sharon, you have no one to blame but yourself,” Clint teased.

Sharon rolled her eyes, and crossed to the living room archway, amusing herself by ogling Steve's calisthenics. Finally appeasing Cooper, who ran off to meet his mother, he stood up, blushing slightly at her attention, and came to lean on the opposite side of the wide threshold. “You're good with him,” she observed. Behind her, she heard Natasha talking softly with Laura, who'd come into the kitchen with an armful of vegetables she'd gathered.

“Uh, thanks... I like kids well enough, I suppose,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

She nodded. “Well enough, yeah. You can put me down in the 'well enough' column too.” He chortled at that, about to say something, when Clint's voice called out from the kitchen.

“Eureka, baby!”

Steve gave her a small, shy smile, rolling his eyes and moving past her. Sharon trailed behind. They gathered around the computer to see what had gotten Clint's attention.

“That's them?” Laura asked of the image, a snapshot from the Michigan Department of Transportation of the speeding Pinzgauer, Barnes and the Intern seated inside.

“Definitely,” Sharon answered.

Steve nodded, looked at the other agents warily. “When we reach them, we take him in alive and unharmed, is that understood?”

“Of course, Steve,” Natasha murmured. “I think we all have questions that need answering.”

§

#### Battle Creek, Michigan, somewhere along I-94 West

They were about two hours outside of Detroit when it all went to hell. They'd spent the night before walking along the Detroit River, hand in hand, finally able to share many of the things they'd been holding back. Darcy told Bucky about Jane's research, about Thor and about her lingering terror at the memory of the Destroyer. He told her what he remembered of his fall from the train in Italy in 1945, of his missions first for the Soviet Union and later for HYDRA. His memories were so spotty, he'd realized, because they'd kept him frozen between operations, sometimes for years.

Darcy didn't know if she'd ever felt closer to anyone after the way they'd opened about the things that were painful to discuss, the delicate gossamer of their hopes and dreams, taking the tentative steps towards building something together. She'd known, by the time the morning sun poured across the floor of the Pinzgauer where they laid together, naked and panting inside of her old sleeping bag, that she could love this man.

She glanced over at him in the passenger seat, where he was reading one of her textbooks. Sensing her eyes on him, he looked up and smiled, leaning in to kiss her softly on the clavicle, then her neck. 

“Hi,” he breathed.

“'Sup?” she chirped, leaning into him and giggling. “Bucky, you're gonna make me crash!” He grinned unrepentantly, winked, and settled back into his seat.

That was when the first deafeningly loud _**'crack!'**_ roared out, the terrible sound bouncing around the empty, tree-lined highway. Suddenly the Pinzgauer was veering wildly, Darcy barely able to keep it on the road.

“What the fuck?” she cried, as Bucky steadied the wheel with his mechanized hand. She glanced at the side view mirror, and saw that one of the tires, or what remained of it, was just a shredded piece of rubber flapping uselessly around the hubcap. “Shit! We blew a tire,” she shouted angrily, just as another _**'crack!'**_ boomed around them, and the car once again swerved. Bucky glanced at his side's mirror, growling, “Two, actually. Pull us over.”

Darcy did, and when the third _**'crack!'**_ came, the hood of the car seemingly exploding into shrapnel as the bullet hit it, she wheezed with terror. Bucky unbuckled her, shoving her to the floor of the vehicle. “Grab whatever you can carry that won't slow you down,” he barked, as she began to crawl to the back of the vehicle.

“What's happening?” she whimpered, just as a fourth _**'crack!'**_ sounded and part of the canvas roof above them was shredded into waving, slashed rags.

Bucky groaned, and grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “We're being shot at,” he ground out, “Time to go, sweetheart.” Darcy shoved her most important items in her backpack, zipping it closed with shaking hands. Bucky helped her tug it onto her back, then pulled out a knife which he used to slice open the canvas roof on the sheltered side of the vehicle, away from where an automatic weapon was now releasing fire. “Slide out and get on the runner, behind the door,” he directed in her ear. She did so, and Bucky followed.

“When I say go, Darcy, we're going to run for those trees,” he told her, pointing at the line of birch and pine trees about twenty feet away, beyond the roadside ditch and a patch of dying grass. "I'm going to hold onto you by your bag, and I'm going to run between you and the shooter. Stay here for one second.” She waited, her face pale and drawn, as he crept over to the back of the Pinzgauer, peering around the bumper. A hail of bullets followed. He scrambled back to her, pulling a pistol from his bag and loading it swiftly. “Whatever you do, do not look back that way. Just keep running, no matter what happens. Got it?”

She nodded. “Are you ready?” he asked, another resounding _**'crack!'**_ , followed by rapid-fire shooting that did not seem to be directed at them, making her flinch and sob. She nodded again, her lower lip trembling, then she set her jaw and repeated the action with more conviction. “I'm ready,” she whispered, her voice steady.

He nodded back, leaning in to kiss her briefly. “Alright, angel. On your mark, get set... _run!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Черт побери"... Damn it!, literally Devil take [me]!   
>  "Иисус Христос"... Jesus Christ!
> 
>  
> 
> Bonus cryptid (maybe): [Waheela](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waheela)


	12. Hodag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patching together eyewitness accounts, rumor, legend and speculation, several aspects of the Hodag’s appearance start to become clear:   
>  · Covered in fine, green fur   
>  · Height: 30 inches   
>  · Weight: 185-265 pounds   
>  · Length: 7 feet   
>  · Diet: Reports vary widely – mud turtles and water snakes, oxen, white bulldogs eaten only on Sundays   
>  · Reported to have the head of a frog, the face of an elephant, stout legs, a spiky, dinosaur-like back and a long tail   
>  · Smell is a combination of “buzzard meat and skunk perfume”   
> 
> 
> ######  [ExploreRhinelander.com, _"What is the Hodag?"_](http://explorerhinelander.com/what-is-the-hodag/)

#### Battle Creek, Michigan, somewhere along I-94 West

“Any luck?” Clint asked the others gathered around the abandoned, bullet-ridden Pinzgauer as he emerged from the highway-side trees and climbed back up to the road. Their dark looks spoke for themselves, and he shrugged hopelessly. “Yeah, me neither.”

Sharon bit her lip, leaned back against the rear of the vehicle as she watched Steve investigate the belongings left inside. “So let's think about this. Obviously the STRIKE unit has evaded arrest, somehow, and we both locked onto this vehicle, probably using the same tech.”

“It would not surprise me if Rumlow raided the Triskelion on his way out,” Natasha offered gloomily.

“Of course, _that_ makes sense. So we all tracked them here. STRIKE opens fire, we return it, and they... what? Just disappear?” Sharon looked around the dispirited bunch skeptically. “That _doesn't_ make any sense.”

Natasha shook her head, staring intently into the swaying red leaves. “No, Sharon, it makes perfect sense. Even carrying the intern with him, this is what the Winter Soldier-”

“Bucky,” Steve interjected, peeking his head out the back door to scowl at Natasha. “His name is Bucky.”

“Okay, fine Steve. This is what Bucky has been trained to do, what he's been doing for half a century. Disappearing. We were distracted, STRIKE was distracted, we practically handed him the opportunity to escape.”

“Great, he's the Grand Poobah of Superspies. In case you've all forgotten, we are _also_ fucking spies-” Clint grunted, irritated.

“I'm not,” Steve interrupted again, jumping from the back of the vehicle, a book in his hand. “Found this inside. I think it belongs to the girl, Darcy. It's... I don't know what to make of it, to be honest.”

He tossed it to Natasha. She glanced at the cover, then read the title aloud, " _Encyclopedia of Beasts and Monsters in Myth, Legend and Folklore_." She looked up from the book, scanning the group with a bemused smirk. Silently, she flipped through, skimming the pages and backtracking a few times. At last, she asked, “Where do we know they've been?”

Sharon peered at the upside-down pages. "Uh, she used her credit card in Texas, along the way in Arkansas, New Orleans, a couple times at various rest stops between Mississippi and Georgia, North Carolina and then one final time in West Virginia. Plus we have them on camera in New Jersey.”

“Remember where in Georgia?” Natasha asked. Sharon looked back at her curiously. “Was it Darien?”

“I...” Sharon paused, unsure, and looked to Clint. He shrugged.

“It was,” Steve said quietly. “I remember reviewing her bank account's activity after Clint found those photos.”

Natasha nodded, her lips quirking into a wry smile. “Remember any others?” she asked.

“Sure. Texas, uh... few different places around Hood County.”

Natasha flipped through the book, then nodded again. She gestured for Steve to continue.

“Nowhere of note until New Orleans, and after that just highway rest-stops until Georgia. Then in West Virginia... Middletown, and Point Pleasant.”

Natasha turned to the index in the back of the book, scanned it for a moment, then flipped to a different page. “Yep,” she said with satisfaction.

“Oh!” Steve said, a grin spreading across his face as he realized what Natasha was getting at, “Big purchase in Wake County, North Carolina. And the gas station, where they were caught on camera, it was in Galloway, New Jersey.”

Natasha was reading something, ignoring all of their expectant stares. Finally, she snapped the book shut, tossing it to Sharon, who caught it with ease. “Yes, that tracks. Sharon, page 159,” she said, pulling out her phone, “the highlighted section. I think I know where they're going.”

“So they're what, hunting for fairytales?” Clint said, his brows drawn together in confusion.

Sharon read, “The... Hodag? Blah blah blah, some people say it looks like a minotaur and some like a furry, fanged lizard... oh, here we go, '...said to live in the swamps of West Virginia and Wisconsin.'”

She lowered the book to check with Natasha, but the woman was typing something into her phone. They watched her, waiting for whatever she was going to turn up. “Aaand, I've got it. Legends of this... Hodag... thing... come mostly from the city of Rhinelander, in northern Wisconsin.”

Clint sighed. “Well we can't take this piece of shit,” he grumbled, kicking at the shredded tires of the Pinzgauer. “And we won't exactly be subtle if we try to follow them along the highway with the Quinjet. What's the plan here, Widow?”

Steve cleared his throat. “Why should we all follow them by jet, if we know where they'll be headed? STRIKE doesn't have this information, especially if we clear the vehicle before we leave, and it'll take them some time to regroup after the beating we just delivered. I think we should split up.” Natasha nodded sharply, approving the plan.

“Clint and I can take the jet. Agent 13, I trust you can find the pair on the road, deliver Steve and yourself to Rhinelander?”

Sharon grinned, flicking her eyes over to where Steve was smiling at her shyly. “I think we can manage,” she answered, winking at him and ambling down into the roadside ditch, towards the same forest where the Winter Soldier and the Intern had disappeared. He blushed, turned to give the smirking, amused agents a half-wave, and jogged after her.

§

#### Harmony, Illinois, somewhere along I-90 West

Bucky relaxed into the soft velvet back of the car's low-slung bench seat, gawking at Darcy appreciatively. “I had no idea you knew had to wire a car,” he offered lightly. She'd been driving silently, knuckles white on the wheel and shoulders hunched tensely, for about four hours. He'd driven them out of Michigan and past Chicago, where he'd thought she was going to have a meltdown when they hit traffic going around the city. After they'd passed the worst of it, Darcy had asked to drive, but the car had maintained its deathly silence except for the low voices of the talk radio station she'd turned on about an hour ago. Bucky didn't think she was actually listening, figured she probably just needed the white noise. He'd tried a couple times to get her to talk through the fear and anxiety she was obviously experiencing, but she'd just shaken her head, eyes glued to the highway around her.

It's not that he wasn't upset too. It's just that... they were still alive, weren't they? He'd gotten them out of there, running through the trees and across several farms until they'd reached the city limits of Battle Creek, where they'd stolen the Buick Century that Darcy was currently operating. He'd gotten them into the car, which she'd jump-started while he switched its license plates. And this is what he'd been fearing this whole time, what he'd been anticipating with dread. It was bad, but he was sort of... surprised. He'd thought it would be worse, that there would be more of them. He sighed.

“Anne and I,” she said faintly, then cleared her throat. “We went through kind of a rebel phase in high school. Thank god all that was before social media and stuff. We... um, we did some joy riding with our neighbors' cars. We always returned them though. Not like it makes it any better, but...”

“I wouldn't worry about it too much,” Bucky said, her croaky voice easing some of the strain between them. He raised his metallic left hand to massage the knots of tension in her neck and shoulders. “That's nice,” she hummed, blinking rapidly. “Thanks.”

“We can take a break, if you want Darce. We've put some space between them and us. Why don't you pull in at this rest stop up ahead, we'll get some gas and just take a minute, huh?”

Darcy nodded, steering the boat-like vehicle into the exit lane, then parking alongside a gas pump. Wordlessly, she opened the door and pulled herself up, out of the vehicle, and passed around it to hook up the nozzle to the tank. Bucky got out as well, and leaned against the car. He reached out towards her, brushing his hand down her arm.

“They were shooting at us, Bucky,” she whispered in a wobbly voice.

He swallowed heavily. “I know, angel,” he answered, moving towards her and pulling her into an embrace she accepted immediately. “Remember what I told you in the Pines, after we saw the Jersey Devil?”

She looked up at him, resting her chin on his pectoral. “Oh so now we saw him, did we?” she asked, an eyebrow quirked. “You said... Everyone gets scared.”

He nodded, leaning down to brush his face against hers. “This right here, what happened this morning, this is what's been scarin' me,” he confessed under his breath, against her lips, "And we did fine. We're safe, we're okay." She whined in her throat at that, and leaned up into the kiss, deepening it. They stayed that way, lips locked and clutching at each other, until the tank was full and the machine began beeping at them insistently.

Bucky rubbed Darcy's back in a comforting, steady pattern. “Let me drive for a while, Darce, you've gotta be exhausted. We're only about four hours out now, and we'll find a place to lay low in Rhinelander, figure out our next move.”

She sighed resignedly, leaning up to peck at his cheek, and murmured, “Okay,” before lowering herself back into the car and stretching out along the front seat.

Her eyes were already closed by the time Bucky had pulled his hood up, paid the man inside, and returned to the driver's seat, turning off the radio once he'd gotten the car started and silently navigating them back towards the lonely highway.

§

#### Endeavor, Wisconsin, somewhere along I-39 North

“So... You and Aunt Peg,” Sharon said bluntly, after she and Steve had spent about five thousand hours in the SUV they'd... appropriated... making pleasant, boring small talk. They'd gotten lucky, had caught sight of the Asset and the Intern in a traffic jam around Chicago, and now were tasked with the somewhat less thrilling task of simply following them to Rhinelander.

She was happy for the opportunity to get to know him better though, felt like she understood a lot more about him than she had before they'd climbed into this massive car together. But since the moment they'd left Battle Run (from that first moment in Jersey City, if she was being honest), that had been the one question she'd wanted to ask him. Needed to ask him.

He cleared his throat. “Ah... yeah. Strange how recent it feels, seeing your... great aunt for the last time. She was a hell of a dame.”

“She still is,” Sharon said, a little more sharply than she'd meant to. “She's in a nursing home in D.C. You could visit her, you know, when the world stops falling to pieces.”

“I'm sure that'll be any day now, right?” he chuckled.

Sharon grinned at that. “But seriously,” she tried again, admiring the way his hands on the wheel (ten and two, what a boy scout) displayed his thick, sculpted biceps. “What about you two?”

Steve said nothing for a few moments, eyes on the Buick Century they'd been following for hours now, the strains of the SUV owner's Miles Davis album the only sound in the car, then answered, “We shared a kiss. We had... something. Chemistry, I think you could call it. But... there was a war on. Too much happening, too much...” He drifted off, frowning, and went quiet.

“Too busy playing the hero to romance the girl, huh?” Sharon grimaced sympathetically. “I know a thing or two about that. Not with girls, I mean. Just... in my own love life. With men. I'm interested in men.”

He chuckled again, glancing at her. “In my defense, I was never very smooth with the dames before...” he gestured at his tall, muscled physique. “Your great aunt knew that. I think... I think she liked me, but I think she also felt a little pity for me. I was so wet behind the ears, Agent Carter, you wouldn't believe some of the mista-”

“Sharon,” she chimed in.

He grinned. “Sharon,” he repeated slowly, as though he was learning a word in a new language. “Will you... will you tell me? What you remember about her?”

She sighed. “Yes, but only on two conditions.” He tilted his head, waiting. “One, you have to go visit her. I think losing you in the ice, well... she moved on with her life, she did a lot of important things. But I think that never really left her. So you have to go say hi, and soon, because she's not getting any younger.”

“And the other?” he asked, nodding his agreement.

“You have to stop thinking of me as the niece of the girl you kissed a few weeks ago,” she answered, raising an eyebrow at him in challenge when he opened his mouth to protest. “It's been sixty years, Steve.”

He offered her a wistful smile. “If you agree to help me with that second part... it's a deal,” he said, holding out his right hand for her to shake.

§

#### Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin

“Yeah, Jane. Real bullets. What? I know because poor Bobby is ruined, that's how I know! Ugh, put Erik on the phone,” Darcy said exasperatedly, rolling her eyes across the motel room at Bucky. He grinned, and continued his perusal of the news website he'd opened on her laptop.

“Fine, tell him I say 'Hi' and that the sky being 'exceptionally clear' is not an excuse to avoid talking to his favorite former intern. What about what I asked you, about Thor?” She listened for a moment, then shook her head and groaned with frustration.

“I know it's broken Jane, but just... Try! Just give a shoutout to Heimdall. Please. I'm asking you as a personal favor which I will repay with my continued indentured servitude to your Pop Tart-eating needs when we get out of this alive.” She went silent, listening, then exploded with, “No, not really! Dude even if I don't get a single photo I'm pretty sure there's gonna be a sweet book deal at the end of this whole fiasco. 'Driving Mr. Winter Soldier'. Instant best seller.”

She could just glimpse Bucky's arched eyebrow and unimpressed expression from the corner of her eyes, and she turned to blow him a kiss.

“Hey listen Doc, I gotta let you go. We have this whole sexy Bonnie and Clyde hanging out in a dingy motel room vibe happening right now and this phone call is definitely killing that.” Even from across the room, Bucky could hear the scientist's fake retching noises through the phone, and he chuckled to himself as he browsed.

“Very mature, Janey. So remember, the whole 'I'm on the run with a HYDRA superspy' thing is very hush-hush for now, okay? No need making this public until we have solid proof that my guy was Clockwork Orange-d into doing it. Mum's the word. Jane? Jane I can hear you typing. Please give me verbal confirmation that you understand.” Darcy listened for a minute more, then sighed. “Okay good. Take care of yourself. I'll call as soon as I can and please please please just try with Heimdall, okay? Like, it would be really great to have a Nordic god on our side the next time these guys with guns show up. Okay, thanks. Bye!”

She hung up and crossed the room, tossing her phone into her backpack. She took one look at Bucky, glowering at the computer on his lap, then crawled up the bed, shoving at him lightly until he sat forward so she could climb between him and the headboard, wrapping her legs around his waist then tucking her chin into his shoulder.

“Don't think that whole secrecy thing's going to be too important anymore, angel,” he muttered darkly, tilting the screen so she could read it. He relaxed slightly into her chest, swiveling his head to peck at her cheek as she read. She'd crashed hard after he'd taken over driving, sleeping so deeply she'd barely moved her head from where she'd rested it against his thigh for about two hours. When she'd woken, she'd seemed in much better spirits, to his relief.

Of course he wasn't relieved anymore. The title of the news story on the screen read, “ _Massive online leak from S.H.I.E.L.D_ ”, and the caption below expanded, “ _Extra-governmental military counter-terrorism and intelligence agency's leak points to high-level, wide-scale infiltration from terrorist organization known as HYDRA_ .”

“Shit,” Darcy said, reading the article over his shoulder. “Double shit. Wait... if,” she paused, reading further for a moment, “if like, the HYDRA agents were all arrested by the FBI... who was shooting at us?”

“I recognized them. Special Mission STRIKE Unit. Must have gotten out before SHIELD was raided or somethin'. Darcy... it's only a matter of time before the media sorts through all the information they've got, and my name comes up,” Bucky muttered resignedly.

“Okay but maybe that's also helpful, right? Because I'm sure they recorded the pattern of abuse, non-consensual cryogenic freezing and mind control they used on you.”

He shook his head, leaning back further into her body as her arms encircled his chest, holding him tightly. “Those records are also going to show a long list of people I've killed.” She kissed the shell of his ear, and buried her face in the firm, tight trapezius muscle at his shoulder.

“It's okay, we're safe,” she whispered when he groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I've got you, Bucky Barnes, and if they want you... they're gonna have to go through me.”

He sighed heavily, meeting her lips when she leaned forward to kiss him, then stiffened against her, holding a hand up when she opened her mouth to ask what was wrong. There was a shuffling set of footsteps on the sidewalk outside their room, and then a timid knock on the door. “Hey Buck, you in there? It's your old pal,” came a muffled man's voice from the other side.

He pushed himself up off the bed and launched across the room, peering through the peephole. “Time to go,” he mouthed, pointing at her computer and her backpack as he pulled his duffel bag's strap across his chest. She gathered her things frantically, stuffing them into her bag and when she finished, he grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the bathroom.

§

#### Rhinelander, Wisconsin

“I can't believe they're not in there. We followed their car to this motel,” Steve repeated stubbornly.

Sharon huffed from the passenger seat, crossed her arms, “Yeah, but it's dark out and he's really good at this.” 

“I flirted with the man at the desk, _and_ I bribed him. He showed me the photocopied ID's of everyone checked into this motel right now... They're not in there, Steve,” Natasha answered calmly from the back seat. The agents had reconvened once Sharon called them from the motel parking lot, Clint and Natasha piling into the backseat as they deliberated who would make first contact with the duo.

“That's their car!” Steve cried, pointing at the empty Buick parked across the lot.

“Yeah... I think they ditched the car, buddy,” Clint drawled where he'd slouched down in his seat, idly whittling arrows out of twigs he'd grabbed from the roadside forest.

Steve sighed. “Fine. So we lost them. Guess we need a new plan.”

“Back to square one,” Sharon spit out, her head lolling back against the seat as she clenched her fists in frustration.

§

#### Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin

“I don't understand, Bucky,” Darcy panted from where he'd shoved her into a crouch, behind a winterberry shrub. “I thought the whole reason we ditched the car and left Rhinelander was because you saw someone following us.”

“I think there's more than one someone,” he muttered bitterly, taking stock of the birch trees and aspens around them. “But the someone outside our door was definitely Rumlow.”

They'd been running for a solid half an hour through the dark hardwood forest, and had only stopped because Darcy's side had cramped so sharply she was convinced she was going to die if she didn't.

“Who? By the way, can we please never climb out of a tiny motel bathroom window again? Good lord does that suck,” she hissed, still panting, although she was slowly getting her breath back.

“No promises.” He crept away, signaling for her to remain where she was. She squinted, adjusting her glasses on her nose, but could barely make out Bucky scaling a nearby red maple tree, so she stared out into the lightless surroundings nervously, settling down onto the wet, leaf-covered forest floor. He stayed there for a while, the frosty chill of Wisconsin night seeping into the forest around them. His absence gave Darcy way too much time to contemplate the snide, ugly sneer of the man who'd shot at them from the bathroom. How easily Bucky had fired back at him and his men, hitting most of them with one, maybe two bullets. But the mean-looking man had run so fast, disappearing from the window and reappearing directly behind them, shooting at them wildly. Hearing his heavy footfall plus those of his buddies behind them as they ran, Darcy had been sure they were going to be caught. It had only been Bucky's hand in hers, pushing her forward even when he slowed to fire at them, that had kept her from stopping, and eventually Agent Gun Guy and his men had fallen behind, either too wounded or winded to continue their pursuit.

“There's a skiing trail lean-to close by, we'll settle in there for a few hours,” he whispered, crawling back to her.

She groaned, “Seriously? It's fucking freezing Bucky!”

He shook his head, unsmiling and grave. “We'll just have to make do, angel. We'll find another car later tonight, but we need to be careful from here on out. Don't think we should stay at any more motels or linger too long anywhere populated.”

He helped her stand up, her joints cold and stiff from hours of crouching, but it was his demeanor that felt like a bucket of ice water dumped on her head. “I guess that means no Hodag,” she said in a sad, small voice.

He focused on her then, his eyes dancing over her slumped shoulders and disappointed pout, and he leaned in, kissing her softly. “That thing was proven to be a hoax done by that Shepard guy years ago. It was a stretch, even for you,” he teased gently.

Sighing, she nodded. “Hmmph. True. Alright. Lead on, sarge. Hopefully this shack of yours will keep us hidden 'til we can steal another car. Maybe, like, a bullet-proof Hummer or a tank or something this time, what do you think?”

§

#### Rhinelander, Wisconsin

Brock Rumlow was not as dumb as he assumed Agents Romanoff and Barton thought he was. He knew to press on after their vicious encounter on that deserted highway in western Michigan, knew to leave his wounded men behind to tend to themselves and keep an eye on the SHIELD agents while he, Rollins and three other good, solid soldiers followed Rogers and Carter into the woods. He'd told the men to trail the others in the Quinjet if they left; if their team could split up, his could too.

They'd been idiots to assume the Asset would stay at that motel, to assume he hadn't realized he was being followed. So they hadn't seen him slip out of the motel on the opposite side of the building, hadn't seen him pulling the pretty girl along towards the used car lot a half mile down the road. Brock had, though.

He'd seen the Asset swipe another car, an old station wagon, so he and his men had followed the couple down to Chippewa Falls.

He hadn't accounted, however, for a bathroom window they could fit through and the Asset's accurate aim even while surprised, on the run, and protecting someone. He looked down at the slugs buried in his bullet-proof vest, the ugly, raw gash where one had grazed his left thigh. Nothing that would kill him, but his torso would certainly be a colorful shade of purple and yellow come morning, and the bullet catching his leg hadn't made chasing the pair through the slippery, branch-strewn forest any easier. He was still alive though, which was more than he could say for the three men he and Rollins had brought along. On the ride back from Chippewa Falls to Rhinelander, they'd rehashed the events then fallen silent, both contemplating their failure and the men they'd left buried in the cold, hard ground.

Alright, he thought patiently as he pulled out the needle and surgical thread from the Quinjet first aid kit and set to the task of sewing his torn thigh back together. Back to square one.

§

#### Clint's Farmhouse, Undisclosed Location

"No way, Nat!" Clint sputtered from his position on the living room couch.

“I think we have to consider it,” Natasha argued, leaning against the archway. “We had the resources to track them when we knew what vehicle we were looking for, but we don't really have anything that will us help find a needle in a haystack, and he does. We don't even have enough fuel to fly the jet off the farm, and the closest SHIELD facility is two hundred, maybe three hundred miles away. We might not have time for that.”

“Yeah but admit it Nat, that guy is an asshole,” Clint contended, and Laura tsked at him from the other end of the couch, where she was holding Lila as Cooper, perched on the arm, braided her hair. 

Steve and Sharon, leaning against the picture window's bench seat, exchanged glances. “Do you know who they're talking about?” Steve asked under his breath.

“Unfortunately,” Sharon answered.

“Agent 13? Thoughts?” Clint demanded.

“Do we seriously not have any better options?” Sharon asked, stalling.

“I wish we did,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes. “He'll definitely be able to help us track them. And it might be good to have some help the next time HYDRA shows up, because we all know they're going to.”

There was a beeping from the kitchen. Clint groaned as pushed himself up off the couch, disappearing and returning with a pot of coffee and a handful of mugs. “Fine, call him. But when Iron Man throws a temper tantrum and everything goes kablooey because that's what happens when that guy's around... it's on you, Romanoff.”


	13. Sasquatch I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A storyteller from the Warm Springs tribe in Washington related a traditional account... An alarming number of the tribe's men had failed to return from hunting forays. The situation was becoming desperate and the elders asked Coyote to help... Coyote agreed and set out. Soon he encountered Bigfoot who admitted responsibility... Coyote knew he must put a stop to this or else there would soon be no more Warm Springs people. Coyote challenged Bigfoot to a contest to determine who was more powerful... The loser would refrain from stealing from or killing the men and live a life of seclusion in the mountains. The contest was to close their eyes and vomit up all that they had eaten that day. The one producing the larger pile was stronger and thereby the victor. Feeling assured of victory, Bigfoot agreed. Coyote, the trickster that he is, switched the disparate piles while Bigfoot's eyes were closed and promptly declared himself the winner. Surprised by the unexpected outcome, Bigfoot nevertheless accepted the consequences and to this day keeps to himself, secluded in the mountains."
> 
> ######  _Sasquatch: Legend Meets Science_ , Jeff Meldrum

#### Malibu, California

“Anthony Edward Stark. Been a while.” Nick Fury had let himself into Tony's home, was waiting for him in the spacious living room when the man emerged from his subterranean workspace. Tony had certainly made improvements on the security system since the last time he'd done this, but Tony hadn't counted on his AI liking Nick better than his own creator, on alerting Tony of his intrusion but still allowing him to do it. Nick wasn't that surprised; Tony's AI seemed to like most people better than his creator.

“Agent Eye Patch, still breaking and entering, I see.” Tony strutted over to his well-stocked drink cart, pouring himself two fingers of scotch into a delicately etched crystal tumbler. Nick nodded when he held up a glass in offering. He brought them over to his sprawling, uncomfortable designer couch and the men sat down, eyeing each other uneasily.

“You don't answer my calls, you don't return my emails. Hurts the ego,” the former SHIELD Director joked.

“ _Your_ phone calls? I figured you were here to ask me to help that minx of yours, Natalie Rushman.”

Nick snorted. “Don't play dumb with me, we both know that's not her name.”

“Oh yeah? Well maybe I'm still feeling salty about that. Sending someone to spy on me, Fury?” Tony gestured angrily with his glass. “I haven't had someone pull that trick since Dad thought I was doing drugs my freshman year at MIT. He was right of course, which the PI he hired was all too happy to tell him. Still. Hurts the ego.”

Nick held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, fair enough. It was an overreach. Listen, I'm here to mend fences, not argue. You've seen the news by now.”

Huffing, Tony answered, “Why do you think I'm sharing my good scotch with you? I'm... Jesus, Nick. What a nightmare.”

Nick nodded, took a sip of the golden-brown alcohol, exhaling deeply as it burned its way down his throat. “Tony, we're still going to need the Avengers,” he said at last.

Tony rolled his eyes, finished his drink in one swallow and stood to refill it. “You can't be serious." He poured himself another healthy serving of scotch.

“Now more than ever, Iron Man,” Nick answered dryly.

“So this _is_ about that phone call from Natasha after all,” Tony quipped, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window that ran the length of the room, looking out over the dark, restless waves of the Pacific. There was a full moon hanging low in the sky, and its yellow reflection danced and shimmered from the bluffs beneath Tony's house all the way out to the edge of the earth.

Nick sighed, finished his drink as well, and stood. “It might be some good team bonding, if you go help them out. They're running run low on resources and I don't have a lot to offer them at the moment, but they're dealing with the remnants of STRIKE, hunting down the Winter Soldier. I'm going to assume you're already fully aware of the details of his file?”

“Oh, I'm aware,” Tony snarled.

“ _All_ of the details, Tony?” Nick may have only had one eye, but his gaze was no less intensely probing for the loss. “What they did to him, to make him do the things he did?”

Tony scoffed at Nick's play on his sympathy, and looked back towards the moonlight-streaked sea. “He still did it.”

“Sure,” Nick nodded, following Tony's gaze out to the water, “And you still spent years partying with the money your company made selling weapons to people like his torturers. Weapons he used to wreak his destruction. Sure, _you_ broke out of the pattern and changed your ways, changed your company, but compassion for others who try to do the same? Forgiveness? That's a sucker's game.”

Tony frowned at Nick's sarcastic tone, and stared back at the man. “So let me get this straight. You're asking me to go save the ass of your favorite pupils, put the band together, and not kill the boogie man? Am I missing anything? Want me to just whip up a cure for cancer, while I'm at it? Invent time travel? Eliminate world hunger?”

Nick smirked, placing his empty tumbler on the glass and chrome coffee table beside him, and turned for the door.

“I'm not one to tell people how to live their lives, Tony. What's that saying? Follow your bliss.” With that, he slipped out of the room, and a moment later Tony heard the front door open and close. He stayed there for a while, staring out at the ocean contemplatively. Then he scrunched up his face, and nodded his head decisively.

“Thanks for nothing Jarvis!” he shouted. 

“Sir, there was-”

“Save it. Get the suit ready. I've got an evening worth of impossible tasks to accomplish. So, you know, just another day that ends in 'y',” he snarked, heading back to the lab.

§

#### Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, somewhere along I-90 West

They'd been driving for a day and a half, two full nights. They'd switched cars twice, and Darcy's nerves were so frayed she was uncertain if she was on the edge of laughing or crying.

They'd passed through western Wisconsin without incident, the sun rising and slowly traveling across their windshield as they crossed into Minnesota and gunned it across the state in four hours. Trying to keep her spirits up, she'd pulled out her phone to film the giant roadside sculptures of North Dakota; a holstein cow, then a sandhill crane, and later, a buffalo. In the videos, Bucky's deep laugh could be heard as Darcy created their personal histories, giving them dramatic origins and heroic ambitions, narrating complex tales of their daring exploits. 

That first day, they'd stopped at a scenic viewpoint inside of Theodore Roosevelt National Park to watch the sun set over the Badlands' striated, craggy peaks and mesas, the dusty ravines between gathering shadows. Darcy's phone had been unable to do justice to the unearthly landscape as the twilight had thrown its beauty into sharp relief. She'd still insisted they take a selfie together, despite what she complained to be the 'potato quality'.

He'd kissed her gently then, as they gave themselves that moment to revel in the feeling of being small in comparison to the ageless, sweeping vista. She'd held tightly to the balustrade in front of them, willfully avoiding looking down at the sharp drop below, and his hands bracketed hers, his body shielding her from the sharp wind tearing around them. He'd thanked her, his voice a low rumble in her ear, for staying. For bringing him to this place. For giving him a reason to run from HYDRA, a reason to break free. She'd cried, and even Bucky, in all his practicality and stoicism, hadn't been completely immune to the overwhelming emotion of the moment; there on that precipice, for the length of that sunset, they had just been two people falling in love.

But it'd had to end, the sun slipping beneath the hills to the west, and they'd climbed into somebody else's car (Darcy leaving a note thanking them and apologizing, as she had for every car along the way). Bucky had picked a sedan, citing its unremarkable features as essential and its efficient gas usage as beneficial before swapping its plates with one of the others they'd stolen, and Darcy had slept restlessly in the cramped back seat for several hours before they'd switched so he could do the same.

Driving through the night across Montana had been an ungodly boring exploit. The lights of small towns twinkling in the far-off distance, speeding long-haul truckers, and Bucky's deep, rhythmic breathing had been the only indications that Darcy was not the last person alive on earth, which was how she'd felt. The one-laned highway had sloped up and back down again over rolling plains, but it had been so dark that Darcy had not been able to get a clear sense exactly when the roads began curve more sharply, to be more hemmed in by dark, swaying pine trees and steep rockface. While it felt as though they were rising in altitude, moving up into the Rockies, she couldn't be sure how much of that had been her exhausted mind playing tricks on her.

She'd stopped sometime around three in the morning, on the outskirts of Butte, afraid that if she continued driving for one minute longer her eyes would slip closed, her hands releasing their grip as she allowed gravity to have its way with them, and all of their running would have been for naught. She'd been too bone-tired to move, simply turned off the engine and rested her forehead against the steering wheel after parking behind a Catholic church. That's how she'd startled awake an hour later, flinching violently at the feel of Bucky's hand resting on her shoulder. She'd shuddered, her breath visible in the unheated car, and groaned with weariness, so he'd gently lifted her, passing around the front to deposit her in the passenger seat before starting the engine once more and continuing on.

When their second daybreak had come, they were still moving west at a merciless pace, now high up in the Rockies. They'd stopped again, needing to stretch their legs and ending up a small roadside diner where Darcy had insisted on trying the bison potstickers then asked Bucky to swap her for his buckwheat pancakes when she went to the bathroom and saw an old photograph of a bison herd out on the prairie, wobbly infants peeking out between the legs of the shaggy beasts.

It was in Couer d'Alene that Bucky had stopped for gas, taken a look at her pale face and shadowed, listless eyes, and declared that they both needed actual rest. He'd driven them up into the foothills outside of town, finding a dirt road once used by miners then dragging her tired body through the towering lodgepole pines until they were far enough from everything that they both felt safe. There he set up the tent hastily, pulling her inside and curling up around her, both of them sinking into deep, blank unconsciousness.

§

#### Clint's Homestead, Undisclosed Location

“Alright people, your knight in titanium alloy armor has arrived!” Tony had landed the SHIELD Quinjet on the dry grass directly in front of Clint's front door, and made a grandiose sweeping gesture with his arms as he spoke, stepping off the ramp onto the earth. Noticing the archer's blank stare, and Natasha's unimpressed lour, he raised up the briefcases in his hands. “I brought toys?” he added, making his way towards them.

He stopped short at the sight of Steve, gasping, and muttered to himself, “... Son of a bitch.” Gathering himself, he called out, “Captain America! You probably remember my old man, Howard “I helped create Captain America” Stark. Big fan of yours. Heard a lot about you growing up. Glad to see they finally dug you out of the Arctic shelf.”

Steve's gaze passed from the agents, whose faces were still dark with misgiving, to Sharon, who shrugged impassively, then back to the ostentatiously well-dressed man standing at the foot of Clint's porch steps. “Uh, Hi...” he started, brows knitting as he took in Tony's fancy watch, his tailored three-piece suit, his groomed facial hair. “Of course I remember Howard. It's nice to meet you...”

“Tony,” the man said, smiling widely. “Agents,” he nodded at Clint and Natasha, “And...” he stared at Sharon, eyebrows raised, “...you are?”

“Agent Sharon Carter of SHIELD,” she answered placidly, nodding at him.

“A Carter, huh? Well aren't we just a gang full of legacies! So, Clinton, you going to let me inside your palace or should I just save the day from out here on your lawn?” He punctuated the jab with another shit-eating grin. 

“Where'd you get the Quinjet, Stark?” Clint inquired.

“Uh, Fury leant it to me from one of his off-the-books warehouses in California, after begging me to come save your bacon,” Tony snapped. At that Clint sighed, then turned to head back inside the house, leaving the door open behind him.

After Tony had nodded with distaste at Clint's children and greeted Laura with an uninterested wave, he began unpacking the various weaponry and devices he'd brought, laying them out on the table. “We've got tracking devices, cellphone signal scanners, heat and night vision glasses, plus I've got the Stark Industries satellite positioned above the western United States to help us with surveillance. If we can't find them with all this, we don't deserve to find them. And before you ask, Natasha,” he peered over at the spy who was trying out the heat vision goggles, “Yes, I brought you more jet fuel.”

She nodded with satisfaction, and turned to Clint. “Still think this was a bad idea?” Her teasing tone was met with a noncommittal grunt, and she smiled at Tony, amused.

He stretched, accepted the cup of coffee handed to him by Laura, then declared, “Alright, let's get started so we can catch this bastard.”

“Tony,” Steve said, having remained quiet up until that point as he surveyed the equipment, “I know what it says in his file. And... I can't tell you how sorry I am, about Howard and your mother. But... we're not killing him. I want to tell you that now, so you can choose not to help us, if you can't agree to that.”

Tony sighed, and began fiddling with the devices he'd brought. “Yeah, Cap, I figured you'd say that. Let the record show that I'm not thrilled with that decision.”

Steve nodded uneasily, and Sharon piped up. “We've got a few leads from this.” She'd picked up the dog-eared cryptid reference book from the kitchen hutch, and when Tony saw the title, _Encyclopedia of Beasts and Monsters in Myth, Legend and Folklore_ , he cracked up with incredulous laughter.

“What the hell is that supposed to tell us?” he wheezed.

“It's been incredibly helpful, actually. They've been hunting the creatures from this book,” Sharon informed him. “We last saw them in northern Wisconsin. There's no way of knowing for certain but my instincts are telling me, considering how many notes the Intern made about Bigfoot, that they're probably headed for the Pacific Northwest.”

“If they're still looking for creatures,” Natasha countered. “They've probably seen news about the leak by now, and undoubtedly the Winter Sol... Bucky, that is, knows that HYDRA is still coming for them. We can't rely on that book to track them.”

“But it's a starting point,” Steve argued.

Tony sighed. “Uh-huh, that's cute. How about I make this easy. Does this girl, the Intern, have a phone?”

Natasha nodded, and dug through a pile of folders, pulling out a dossier which she opened and handed to Tony. “That's everything we know about Darcy Lewis, including her phone number.”

Tony accepted the folder, then sat in the chair, typing away on his Starkpad and grabbing some more pieces of tech from the briefcase. “Great. Let's hope she's an average millennial; if she's been using her phone to text, call or use the internet, she'll have pinged a nearby cell tower. It'll give us an idea of where they're at. By the way, if we end up hunting a couple of lunatics who are hunting Bigfoot, I was officially never part of this mission. I have a reputation to maintain, gang.”

“I don't know, I don't think it's so strange,” Steve said softly. “The 21st century is full of truly strange things. This girl was part of the encounter with the alien, Thor, is that right Sharon? I can see why she'd figure the rest of it might be-”

“I'm sorry, did you say... alien?” Tony interjected, looking up from his tablet.

“It's a long story, Tony,” Natasha sighed, then turned towards her glowering friend, “And Clint can explain it better.” Clint shot her a dirty look and they engaged in a silent war of wills, expressed solely with their eyes, until he nodded curtly, and sat down across from Tony, gripping his mug of coffee tightly. 

“So,” he grunted. “The, uh, Norse gods. Like, from the Vikings. Thor, Odin, Loki, all of that. They're real. There. Now you're all caught up.”

Tony blinked, looking around the group warily as though waiting for the punchline, then dropped his gaze back to the tablet and shrugged. “Oh... kay, then. Thor is real and we are... following Captain America's childhood pal, who is hunting for Bigfoot. Got it.”

§

#### Somewhere near Clint's Farmhouse, Undisclosed Location

The ten men sitting inside the Quinjet were silent as they listened to the conversation happening inside the farmhouse located a few hundred yards away. Brock glanced out the front windshield to check on their two sentries; they were still positioned in the trees surrounding the cloaked plane, guns loaded as they watched tensely for signs of detection. The massive satellite dish they'd attached to the side just brushed the top of the colorful maple trees, its excellent reception perfectly picking up every word. Brock turned back to the interior, where the men sat in various states of repose. Several of them were still recovering from bullet wounds acquired from their highway skirmish with Fury's ragtag gang, some of them were cleaning their weapons.

Brock sighed. “How's our fuel doing? If they're heading out west, are we going to be able to follow?”

Rollins, seated in the co-pilot's chair, nodded. “Affirmative. We brought everything the SHIELD safehouse had; we could make it to out Washington state and back twice if we needed to.”

“Ammunition?”

One of the men sitting towards the back of the jet answered, “Affirmative, sir. We have well over a thousand rounds left.”

“At least we have that going for us,” Brock sighed again, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees. After his and Rollins' massive failure to capture the Asset in Chippewa Falls, he'd directed his men waiting in Rhinelander to stay on the agents as they departed in their own Quinjet. The men had tracked them to this location then found cover, directing Brock and Jack to the house. It'd only been a day's drive from Chippewa Falls; Brock and Jack had arrived mere hours before Tony.

“Sir... Bigfoot? Is this some kind of joke?” Rollins sneered.

“Doesn't matter,” Rumlow grunted, “The son of a bitch could be hunting the tooth fairy for all I care, as long as we get the bastard back in our custody alive. But you know what? Don't think we'll need the others... Iron Man, Hawkeye, Black Widow, Agent 13, the Cap... we should probably do the US government a favor, take 'em all out... while we're at it.”

Rollins smiled cruelly, the men behind him laughing their approval of the vengeful, violent plan.

§

#### Coeur d'Alene, Idaho

Darcy's back was warm against his chest when Bucky finally woke up, the tent illuminated by the eerie, silvery light of her phone. He pushed himself up onto his elbow to see that she was reading a list-style article. She turned her head, giving him a sleepy smile, and met him halfway when he leaned down to gently brush his lips across hers.

“What're you reading about?” he asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the serenity of the tent. Outside he could hear an owl hooting its baleful lament, and the leaves rustled with the wind, or nocturnal predators, or both.

“The great granddaddy of them all,” she murmured, passing the phone to him, “Sasquatch. Bigfoot.”

He snorted, rolling onto his back as he scanned the list she'd been reading. “Top ten most famous sightings,” he narrated. “The Himalayas, Pennsylvania, Mississippi, Utah, California... How many of these things are there, supposedly?”

She settled into his side, nuzzling her face into his chest, her reply muffled by the wool of his sweater. “Some say it's an entire species, like a leftover branch of the ape family that forgot to go extinct. A lot of Sasquatch believers say that the US government has been trying to drive it into extinction since its discovery, when we began traveling west of the Allegheny in colonial days.”

“Really, Darce?” he asked skeptically, passing the phone back to her. “We have more important things to worry about now, wouldn't you say?”

She shrugged, her face still hidden from him, and let the phone go dark, laying it beside her. His eyes adjusted quickly and he could see that although her body was relaxed, she was not sleeping. “Darcy? Angel? Talk to me,” he whispered.

“It's been seen in the forests of Washington. I think we should go after it,” she said in a hushed tone. She propped herself, squinting at him in the darkness. “What do we have to lose? You said we should stay away from people anyway. We might as well ditch the car and make our way on foot. We can start in the Blue Mountains, they're only a few hours south of here. Then we can head towards northern California.”

“Darcy-” he started.

“No, hear me out Bucky. People were shooting at us. They're coming for us anyway, we know that. I started this trip with a goal, and I would definitely count my results so far as... mixed. I don't have a single shred of evidence for anything that I've seen, besides a mysterious bite-shaped scar on my leg. But if we could catch Sasquatch on film... I dunno. We could sell it. Go into hiding. Something. At the very least, if I'm about to get taken down by a bunch of rogue terrorist nutjobs, I'd like to go out on my own terms. Just think about it.”

He was grinning by the time she'd finished, and chucked lightly. She shot him a wounded look so he shook his head, then cleared his throat. “Sorry angel, you're just too cute when you get all bossy on me... believe it or not, I'm with you on this one. I think it's a good plan. We'll be harder to track on foot, there'll be less chance of us showing up on some speedtrap or surveillance camera if we're out in the woods. Let's do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I had the hardest time writing this chapter. I'm still not sure if I really like it, or the other two that make up the end of this story. But I'm committing myself to publishing them anyway because (like Darcy) I want to see this thing through. If you've liked what you've read so far, I would really love to know down in the comments. If you see some way you think the story could be improved, that would be just as appreciated._  
> 


	14. Sasquatch II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sasquatch, the elusive legendary creature of the Pacific Northwest mountains, has been officially recognized by the US Army Corps of Engineers. Though branded as a myth by some, Sasquatch is described in detail in the 'Washington Environmental Atlas', a $200,000 Corps project designed to assist government and private planners. The book says Sasquatch, also known as Bigfoot, stands up to 12 feet tall, weighs up to 1000 pounds, and strides up to 6 feet... 
> 
>  'If Sasquatch is purely legendary, the legend is likely to be a long time dying,' the atlas says.”  
> 
> 
> ###### Washington Star-News Report, _“Engineer Corps Book Recognizes Bigfoot”_ (1975)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who left encouraging and constructive comments! You are all exceptionally rad, exceptionally kind people. I took a little time to make some tweaks to these last two chapters, and I think they're much better for it. Preemptive apologies for typos because this chapter has grown into quite a beast itself. I hope you enjoy. ☺

#### Spokane, Washington, somewhere along US-195 South

“It'll be alright once we get off the grid, angel,” Bucky said, glancing sideways at Darcy. She was sitting quietly in the passenger seat, had been immersed in her thoughts for most of the short drive west out of Idaho and their strategic visit to a camping gear outlet shop to stock up on supplies in Spokane. She remained so now, as they raced along the quiet one-laned highway that carried them south, towards the Blue Mountains and Umatilla National Forest. She nodded, and reached over to squeeze his forearm, which leaned on the arm rest between them. He grabbed at her hand, entwining their fingers, and lifted it to his mouth, pressing his lips to the pale, thin skin on the inside of her wrist. He dropped their hands back to his lap and she shifted in her seat to face him, studying his features.

“See something you like?” he teased.

“'Lotta somethings,” she answered, mischievousness peeking through the somber mood that had haunted her since Montana.

“You make me nervous, being so quiet, Darce,” he confessed. She sighed, looking out the window at the recently harvested wheat fields and wide, endless skies of the Colombia Plateau's lowlands. “Why don't you tell me something about Sasquatch?”

“Hmm... Okay. Okay, so... it got its name from the Halkomelem tribe's word for it, Sásq'ets. That translates to “wild man” in English. But really, a ton of the western Native American tribes have stories about a giant, hairy humanoid walking around in the forests. It's always big, occasionally violent but usually shy, and a lot of stories mention that it seriously reeks.”

“Hey now, there's no need to go judging the poor guy just because he lives in the great outdoors. We've been sleeping in a car or the woods for a few days now... pretty sure we ain't exactly fresh as daisies,” Bucky retorted, feigning indignation on the creature's behalf. He caught a glimpse of a smile tugging at her full lips and chuckled, adding, “Just an animal, after all.”

“True. People are being totally harsh on poor Sasquatch.” She tsked lightly, shaking her head. “So not cool.” There was a pause, and she sobered, asking, “Bucky... they're going to catch up with us, aren't they? The gun guys?”

He tightened his fingers around hers, and swallowed heavily. “I don't know, sweetheart.”

“Just tell me,” she pleaded. “Be honest, don't protect me from this.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, his voice shaking slightly, “They're probably going to find us again.”

“And then what?” she cried plaintively. “What happens to us?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, Darcy. They catch up to us, I'll deal with it. You'll run.”

“And if we're outnumbered? If I can't run? And what about you? I just leave you? What kind of horseshit is that?” Her eyes were wide with fear, and she was squeezing his hand so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

“You got friends who would come for you, Darcy. You got family. I... I'm not going back to HYDRA, not alive.” He didn't elaborate, hoping she would understand what he was implying. He could tell by her abrupt gasp that she did, and when he peeked at her from the corners of his eyes he could see that her mouth was hanging open, tears gathering. “Now, honey, wait a minute. It's not going to come to that, okay? I promise you. HYDRA, they're... I think they've lost a lot of the power they had. They didn't send too many men after us, not like I thought they would, and we know they got busted over in D.C. So, just... don't let yourself get so scared. We can handle them. We handled the Jersey Devil and Ol' Champy, we can handle 'em.”

“Promise me you'll fight with everything you have before you do something you can't take back,” she whispered, still solemn.

“Of course, Darcy, of course I will,” he vowed without hesitation, brushing his lips over her knuckles. “Let's not talk about it anymore, huh? Tell me where you want us to enter the forest, I'm startin' to see signs for it.”

§

#### S.H.I.E.L.D Quinjet, somewhere above central Idaho

“We're about a half an hour out from the Oregon state line, can we get a more precise idea of where they're at yet?” Natasha asked Tony, speaking into her headset. His voice, amplified throughout the jet by Jarvis, was clear enough that Steve and Sharon could hear from their jump seats in the back.

“Uh, that would be a yes. The Stark Industries satellite is locked onto her phone... Jarvis should be sending you the coordinates now." Clint shifted his head to the right as something red and gold gleamed in the bright afternoon sun and saw that Stark was flying neck and neck with them.

He turned to Natasha, shooting her a droll expression as Tony began to do barrel rolls, obviously showing off, then glanced down at the slowly-moving dot on the map Jarvis was displaying. "Looks like they're on foot now, this'll give us a pretty good idea where to land.” Natasha nodded, and glanced back at Steve, who was peering at his shield meditatively.

“You still with us, Steve?” Sharon asked from beside him, elbowing him gently.

He nodded, taking a deep breath and seemingly resolving some conflict he'd been wrestling with. “I'm good. I'm ready,” he answered.

"Tony, you said you thought you saw STRIKE's Quinjet behind us. See anything now?" Clint asked as he peered at the empty radar screen to his right.

"Got nothing, Barton. I think they're flying low enough beneath us to not disturb cloud cover and far enough back that I don't have a visual... they're keeping themselves hidden for the time being."

"Shit," Sharon muttered. "Not that a dogfight would have been any more fun than doing this on land, but... we might've been able to keep the civilian out of it."

A contemplative lull in the discussion followed, only the white noise of the jet moving through air and its machinery filling in the silence. Natasha turned her head, speaking over her shoulder from the cockpit. “Seat belts on, you two. We'll be hitting some turbulence over the Rockies. Tony, you might want to consider coming back inside for this."

“Thanks for worrying _mom_ , but I've taken this suit to the upper reaches of the damn atmosphere. I'll be fine!”

“Language, Stark,” Steve sighed, pulling his own safety straps over his shoulder and buckling them into the clasp on his seat.

Thirty teeth-rattling minutes later, Natasha called back to them, “Alright, we just crossed over into Oregon and we're pretty close to them. I'm taking the jet down. Hang on, everyone.”

§

#### Another S.H.I.E.L.D Quinjet, somewhere above northeastern Oregon

“They're starting to descend,” Jack shouted back into the Quinjet. Brock nodded, pointing towards the ramp entrance at the rear. “Landing in twenty, men. Looks like we'll be in National Forest so I'm keeping us cloaked. I want you all ready to move the second we're on the ground. Is that clear?”

A resounding, “Sir, yes sir!” came back, accompanied by the sounds of guns being loaded and gear being donned, checked, adjusted.

 _Go time_ , he thought exultantly, adrenaline causing his own heartbeat to thunder in his ears.

§

#### Big Meadows, Umatilla National Forest, Oregon, somewhere along trail NF-6511

The dirt road they'd been scrambling up for the last three hours curved dramatically to the left, so Darcy and Bucky took a break to appreciate the view from atop the peak they'd finally summited. Darcy was flushed, sweating, and breathing heavily, Bucky unperturbed. They peered out through the break in the dense wall of rocky mountain maple shrubs surrounding them; at the foot of the mountain's steep incline, Darcy could just catch a glimpse of the white-watered, boulder-filled river roaring south. Rising up behind it was the next dark, evergreen covered-peak, and after that another, then another. They stretched up and out as far as the eye could see, leading down into central Oregon, each one imposing and impressive and impassive. She checked the map she'd bought in Spokane. “That's the Walla Walla River. This trail should come down the mountain and meet it, then we'll follow it south for a little while.”

Bucky nodded, and pulled a water bottle from Darcy's backpack, handing it to her. She took a sip then grabbed Jane's compass from her pocket, checking it against her phone to make sure it was accurate.

“We're gonna have to split off from the trail at a certain point, though, because it continues west out of the forest,” she nodded at the map, then passed the compass to Bucky. “Wanna be in charge of keeping us on track?”

“My pleasure,” he answered, taking it from her.

“Okay,” she breathed, almost normally, “I'm good now. Put this back?” He returned the bottle to her backpack, zipping it up and taking the chance to palm her ass appreciatively. She spun around, tickling at his ribs until his serious expression cracked and he chuckled, then bent slightly to kiss her. She happily accepted the embrace, then shifted in his arms to scan the timbered range before them.

“Ready?” he asked, smiling fondly down at her.

“Hell yes,” she answered, nodding steadily.

§

#### -118.075°, 45.911°, Big Meadows, Umatilla National Forest, Oregon

The jet landed with only a gentle bump and the mechanical whirring of the wings shifting out of their in-flight position. Natasha quickly unbuckled her seatbeat, stood, and led the way out as the ramp lowered and they filed out of the jet. Steve was the last to exit, pulling his shield over his back until it locked into place and taking stock of their surroundings. They were at the top of a precipitous ridge, and when he peered down the steep slope he could see they were on one side of a gully, an angry-looking river snaking along the narrow valley at its base and the opposite hill, thick with grand fir trees, rising up from its banks across from them. A thin hiking trail followed alongside the river, weaving between massive boulders.

He sighed. Bucky was close. He was going to see Bucky soon. Steve knew two paradoxical truths at the same time: it felt as though he'd only seen Bucky die a couple months ago, the pain of losing him still raw, and he had no idea how long it had been for Bucky, or even who he was now. Only that he was alive. The terrible machinations that had caused this paradox for Steve felt like a miracle and a nightmare. Would his oldest and truest friend recognize him, would they embrace like the brothers they once were? Would he treat him as a hostile, and run from him, or worse... try to kill him? What did he mean to the man, after all these years? Steve took a deep breath, trying to still his racing thoughts. He'd know soon enough.

“Tony?” Natasha asked, “What do you have?”

“They're not far from here,” Tony answered, his helmet shut tight and ignited repulsors in his hands and feet keeping him aloft, hovering twenty feet above them. He glanced at a panel in his arm, then added, “On the trail down there, about a hundred feet to the south around that bend.”

Clint cleared his throat, then said, "Listen, we know that Rumlow and the STRIKE unit are on their way. Someone should stay with the jet, so we can use its artillery if need be." He glanced around. "Agent 13?"

Sharon nodded, but it was Natasha who spoke. "No. I'll stay." Clint's head swiveled towards her, disbelief on his face. "We don't know what... Barnes... remembers. But if he remembers everything, he probably remembers me. I think... one blast from the past at a time is probably the merciful way to do this." She glanced meaningfully at Steve, who was staring at her with concern. He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off. "It's fine, go. I can give you cover when they show up. Tony, have you been able to detect STRIKE's Quinjet yet?"

Tony's voice, audible through the comm device in all their ears, was sardonic when he replied, "Nothing yet. Looks like my brilliant design of the cloaking mechanism was a wild success. Unfortunately."

"You could at least pretend to be upset about it," Clint joked, rolling his eyes at Natasha who smirked in response, shaking her head, and turned to climb back into the jet. "I'll stay up here, too. Easier to provide cover with arrows from an elevated point. Shooting these things upwards is like giving myself a handicap, which is a nice personal challenge that somehow I'm guessing STRIKE will not respect."

"Fine, Barton, Romanoff, good luck and let us know the minute you see anything. Same goes for you, Tony," Steve directed his words first towards the agents, then up into the sky, where he could just see the shape of Tony's armor-clad body circling like a bird of prey. Sharon gave a precise salute then a cocky grin to her fellow agents and moved to follow Steve. With that, they began to scramble down the mountain. Steve stayed close to Sharon, offering his hand whenever they needed to jump across a particularly deep, rocky crevasse or climb through one of the endless patches of gnarled bitterbrush that covered much of the treeless slope. She didn't really need his help, but she accepted it every time, smiling at him coyly.

When they finally reached the rock-strewn trail at the foot of the incline, Steve turned to her. "I need to go this alone from here, Sharon. We don't know who he is or what he remembers... I don't want him to get spooked and run again." His expression was unreadable behind the cowl that covered the top half of his face, and he was using his clipped, commanding, Captain America voice.

She shook her head, and crossed her arms across her kevlar-covered chest. "Uh... no, Steve." She looked down the trail contemplatively. "I'll hang back, but... you're not going in there without support. That may have been how you operated in World War Two, but that's not how we do things these days. But look, don't worry about me, I'll be quiet as a church mouse. You won't even know I'm here." He advanced towards her, towering and frustrated and clearly ready to argue. She could see the internal debate in his eyes as to whether he should waste more time trying to get her to stay put or focus on finding his friend. She smiled at him beatifically when the latter imperative won out.

He groaned. "You don't want me to think of you as your aunt's niece, stop being so much like her," he ground out, pivoting on his heel and taking off in a jog. Sharon rolled her eyes at the attempted jab, and made off after him.

It took them about ten minutes of jogging to catch the couple, and when Bucky and Darcy heard their footsteps pounding on the earth behind them the couple spun to face them, the girl's face pale and frightened, Barnes clamping a hand around her arm and pulling her behind him, backing up until she was pinned between him and a nearby boulder.

“Bucky!” Steve exclaimed. He came to a stop, an arm's length away from the tense, defensively postured man. “I... it's me, pal. It's Steve. God, I can't believe it. Do you... know who I am?”

Bucky took in the pair, then craned his neck to look up at Tony, still on the lookout far above them. His gaze lowered, landing on Sharon and his brows drew together, face clouding with distrust. He pulled a pistol from the holster at his thigh and aimed it at her, other hand keeping Darcy behind him. When he finally spoke, it was only a low rasp. “Steve... you brought friends. SHIELD? ... HYDRA?”

“We read about you guys, who you really are,” Darcy chimed in, mostly hidden behind Bucky's tall, bulky frame except for her hands, which were tightly gripping the leather straps of his tactical vest. "We're not going anywhere with you, not without a fight. I have a tazer, you know!"

"And she knows how to use it. Took down Thor with it. Although he was only human at the time... eh, doesn't matter. SHIELD agents were still impressed by that quick thinking, Lewis," Sharon spoke conversationally to the disembodied voice. She stepped up on the trail next to Steve. "We're not part of the HYDRA takeover. I mean, how could _he_ be?" She nodded at Steve. "He only woke up a couple weeks ago. And he's Captain Fucking America. Come on."

Bucky looked between the two, Sharon fully clad in bullet-proof armor and black tactical clothes, Steve dredging up every awful memory of the war with his original Cap uniform, both of them armed and standing with a stiffness to rival his own. "And you?" he asked Sharon.

"Sharon helped us take out HYDRA in D.C., Buck. Have you seen anything about it, on the news maybe? She's one of the good guys. You still haven't answered my question, about me..." Steve, hands raised nonthreateningly, was slowly stepping closer. "Come on pal, give me something to work with here."

This rebuke seemed to break through Bucky's defenses, because he lowered the gun, then holstered it. Still he said nothing, staring at the only living person from his past, an inscrutable blend of emotions playing across his face. His other hand continued holding Darcy back, safely protected behind his body.

“Bucky,” Steve tried again, “We're not here to hurt you. We want to help. I... I want to _help_ you. End of the line, remember?”

For another long, fraught moment, the two men stared at each other, saying nothing. Finally, Bucky's shoulders sagged. He nodded. “It's good to see you, Steve,” he mumbled, as the man moved to embrace him. He accepted the hug, patting Steve on his shield-covered back, then asked, “Did you have to wear the whole battle suit? Kind of gives the wrong impression.” He gestured to Steve's star-spangled uniform, the shield, his helmet.

“We were followed here,” Sharon informed the couple. “We tried to lose them, unfortunately they have the same tech as us so we can't say for certain that it worked. Even if it did, it probably only threw them off temporarily. They'll be able to lock onto our heat signatures once they get close enough.”

Bucky nodded at her, then asked, “HYDRA?”

Steve got a far-off look in his eye, bringing a finger to his ear as he listened to something being relayed to him. He nodded distractedly at Bucky then turned to Sharon, who was receiving the same message.

"Hey babe, since they're not going to murder us, can I please stop being the meat in this Bucky-boulder sandwich?" Darcy's voice called out irritably. Bucky stepped forward, looking sheepish as he turned to her. "It's okay, I get it. Will you pull my tazer out of my backpack? I think it's kind of buried under all the Luna bars." She turned to allow him to dig through the bag, before handing her the device. "Thanks." She pushed up on her toes to get closer to him, and he pulled her body in, leaning down to swipe his lips against hers.

"So... you two..." Sharon started, then stopped, glancing at Steve worriedly.

"Miss Lewis," Steve said, his attention redirected to the couple in front of him, "My name's Steve. I'm an old frien-"

"I know who you are, dude, I took U.S. History. I mean I didn't think World War Two was all that interesting or whatever, but I sure as hell remember you," Darcy interrupted.

Steve glanced between the girl and his old friend, and a small grin broke out on his face. "I, well... alright then. In that case, it's nice for _me_ to meet _you_ , Miss Lewis. I've got to thank you, for helping my friend here."

Bucky smiled down at her ruefully, swinging an arm around her shoulders and looking back at them, chin raised defiantly. "We helped each other, punk."

"Yeah, we've kind of got a little mutual appreciation society thing happening here. You can call me Darcy, by the way. Miss Lewis makes me feel like I'm the heroine in a Jane Austen novel. Which, like, wouldn't be the worst thing but-"

Before Darcy could finish that thought, Steve and Sharon both tensed, hearing the same thing on their comm devices. Bucky's hearing picked it up too, and he shoved his pistol into Darcy's free hand, before reaching into the duffel bag slung across his shoulder for his automatic rifle. He loaded it swiftly. The three of them moved to crouch behind the boulder, Bucky tugging Darcy back into a protected position in front of him, under the wide curving side of the massive rock. "What? What is it?" she hissed.

Two answers came simultaneously. One was Steve's curt, "They're here," and the other was the sound of a Quinjet's Gatling gun opening fire. The latter was followed by the echoing sound of that artillery fire being returned.

"What's happening? Bucky, you're squishing me, I can't breathe! Who's shooting, is it at us?" Darcy cried, stowing the tazer in her coat pocket and looking sideways at Sharon and Steve from the underside of the rock.

"I'm going to get a visual. Stay here," Steve said, pulling his shield onto his arm and standing, then stepping back onto the trail and running towards the now near-deafening clamor of a Quinjet firefight. There was the whistling, whooshing noise of a missile being fired, several terrible seconds of silence, and then the even louder clamor of something large and metal exploding rocked through the gully. Another equally loud explosion followed almost immediately. Darcy squeaked, her sweaty hands slipping on the gun. Sharon reached over, carefully pulling Darcy's finger from where it rested on the trigger.

"Sorry!" Darcy whimpered, looking at the weapon in her hand with apprehension. Bucky, having backed up slightly to let her breathe, peered over at her, ran his hand along her back and leaned down, whispering something into her ear that Sharon could not hear. The woman took a deep breath, adjusting her glasses, and nodded at him, then seemed to center herself. Bucky's focus returned to his weapon, resting atop the rock and trained on the trail leading towards the skirmish while he waited to see who would return, Steve or an enemy.

Suddenly, Sharon crouched down, protecting her device-less ear while she listened carefully to something. She looked up at the couple. "It's definitely STRIKE, they landed their Quinjet up there, and deployed what seems like most of the unit on the ground. Someone is operating the jet though, it's in the air again. They've opened fire on Natasha and Clint and most of the men have taken cover in the trees over there," she pointed across the river, where the treeline started a rock's throw from the rushing water and climbed up to the top of the steep hillside, "Stark is trying to take out their jet but no one can get a solid shot at it. And..." she paused again, listening.

"Steve is pinned down," Bucky spit out through clenched teeth. Sharon tilted her head, confusion muddling her response until she remembered his enhanced senses. She nodded, readjusting the grip on the rifle she'd been holding.

Bucky was about to speak again when there was an immense blast of heat accompanied by what looked to Darcy (peeking out from under Bucky's arm) to be a fireball exploding in the sky, directly above the sharp bend in the river. As the detonation caused further pieces of the previously-obscured Quinjet to ignite, damaging the internal systems, the hulking vehicle began to flicker in and out of sight, Rollins just visible in the cockpit. He was desperately firing everything he could at Tony, who continued to dodge his bombardment as he propelled himself above the jet and extended his arm, firing another missile down into the yet undamaged wing. The other was already a ravaged metal skeleton, glowing bright with the angry orange flames that were consuming it. Bucky, recognizing the man who had often assisted Rumlow in restraining him, did not hesitate. He took aim, lining his heavy rifle up with the badly listing, now fully visible jet, and began to fire. The first round of shots cracked the cockpit's window, and Rollins could be seen ducking, then yelling furiously. He turned, catching sight of Bucky shooting at him. A panicked look crossed his face, and he turned back to Tony, firing a missile. Tony flew higher still in an attempt to dodge the projectile, but it made contact anyway, and there was an awful fiery, blast before Tony began to freefall, the lights on his suit gone dark, landing in the river below.

Bucky lined up the shot again, and this time, his spray of bullets broke through the Quinjet's thick glass window, finding their intended target. Rollins crumpled onto the controls, causing the jet to veer jerkily to the side. The metal groaned its complaint as the fires Tony's missiles had started ravaged the frame. Now without a pilot and quickly losing all functionality, the jet spun wildly in two full loops then crashed into the trees, sliding part way down the mountainside before coming to rest in a particularly large, thick copse of fluffy pines. There was a infinitesimal moment of silence, where only the rushing water, the still creaking metal and the lingering echoes of the crash could be heard. Then something flammable was set off within the jet, the smaller fires were fed and united, and the entire thing went up in a hellish blaze. The surrounding timber began to catch fire, and the ensuing movement of the STRIKE unit as they fled the rapidly spreading flames brought another round of fire from Natasha and Clint, the loud rat-a-tat of her gun and the explosions from his arrows filling the air with commotion once more.

Tony's inanimate body, meanwhile, was being tossed from rock to rock as the river savagely pushed it forward, the heft of his metal armor no match for the force of the rapids. Bucky looked between the approaching body, bobbing to the surface then being pulled beneath, and the retreating men. "That's Howard's kid?" He turned to Sharon and she nodded. "Tell Steve I'll get him, Agent. You keep my girl safe." Darcy's head whipped around, her expression panicked and he grabbed her face in both hands, kissing her desperately. "You'll be fine, angel. Agent, uh, Sharon here is going to protect you. Ain't that right, Agent?" He glowered at the woman, who rolled her eyes and pulled Darcy behind her. Bucky nodded, and handed the rifle to Sharon. "Here. Take this. Extra firepower."

"What about you?" Darcy cried, hysterical at seeing him disarm.

"Got my pistol, and my knife. I'll be fine, darlin'. Just do whatever Agent Sharon here tells you and I'll be back in a flash." With that, he dropped the duffel bag and was gone, diving into the water after Tony, who was still offering no resistance to the wild river carrying him away.

It was then that Steve reappeared behind the boulder, the leather on one of his boots shredded from where a bullet had grazed it but otherwise unharmed. Bullets were striking the front of the rock now, the eyes of the STRIKE unit having followed the Captain back to their hiding spot. He leaned down next to Sharon, panting slightly. "Where's Bucky?" Sharon thumbed downriver, then returned her attention to picking off whatever STRIKE agents she could spot. Steve glanced at Darcy, crouching motionless, her eyes glued to the dark figure moving along with the current. He followed her gaze; it was Bucky, his arms holding Stark's gleaming red and gold suit close to him as he attempted to maneuver them towards the shore. Steve nodded. "Barton, Romanoff- Barnes has got Stark. What's the status on the jet?"

In his and Sharon's ear, the chagrined voice of Natasha replied, "We're a sitting duck, Steve. Rollins managed to completely destroy one of our wings, Clint's right shoulder has been shot and the STRIKE unit has us both completely pinned down. I can't get to him."

"Son of a bitch, this fucking bullet! I'm bleeding like a stuck pig and I can't hold anything properly!" Clint's angry voice exploded, all of their devices hissing at the volume of his shouted expletives. "We could use some damn help up here Rogers, Carter!"

Steve was eyeing Sharon and Darcy while they spoke, and glanced down the river at Bucky, who was still struggling with the relentless current. "How do we play this, Steve?" Sharon asked, before leaning up over the boulder to fire at a STRIKE agent darting through the trees towards them. The distant enemy stopped mid-step, then sank into the dense underbrush.

"We've got to get to Barton and Romanoff," Steve answered. He glanced back at Bucky, who was struggling to grab at any of the wet, slippery rocks he was being shoved up against as the punishing river drove he and Tony further away.

Sharon jerked her head towards the blazing forest, the flames now jumping quickly from tree to tree, then back to the men floating downriver. "And that? And them?"

"I'll go help Bucky," came Darcy's small voice, almost too faint to be heard over the sound of Natasha and the STRIKE agents' continuous firing. "I don't really want to get any closer to what's happening up there, anyway. I can help pull him in."

Steve examined her for less than a second, and not having the luxury of time to deliberate, he nodded. "Good plan. Come on Carter, keep your rifle ready and we'll move closer behind my shield." He lifted the vibranium disk in front of him, and Sharon turned to Darcy, patting her on the arm.

"You're doing a brave thing, Lewis. When this is all over, because it _will_ be all over soon enough... you should consider helping us rebuild SHIELD."

Darcy grinned crookedly. "Hey thanks for the pep talk, but uh... is this really the time or the place for the recruitment spiel?"

Sharon grinned back. "A wise woman once told me that the worst mistake you can make in life is missing a perfectly good opportunity to do something, 'cause you think there'll be time later."

"Carpe diem, huh?" Darcy joked, trying to steady her shaking, pistol-bearing hand.

"Maybe we can have this fun bonding moment later?" Steve snapped, impatiently. With that, he and Sharon were gone, running up the trail, bullets ricocheting off his shield as Sharon returned fire from behind Steve's back.

Darcy spun, corrected her grip on the pistol, took a deep breath, and headed down the trail in the opposite direction.

§

Flinching at Clint's anguished, frustrated howl in her ear, Natasha glanced across the river at where the sporadic hail of bullets was coming from the trees, the encroaching wall of flame herding Rumlow and his men upriver, no longer directly across the wide gully from her. "Fuck it," she snarled, leaping up and running down the still-lowered ramp. She ducked behind the body of the Quinjet as well as she could, craning her neck to try and spot her old friend. "Clint, I'm outside the jet, give me your location."

"What? No! Get back in there, keep them back!" Clint responded, incensed.

"We're here, Romanoff, go," came Steve's voice in their ears. "We're by the river but I think we can pin them down long enough for you to get to Barton."

"Look at the fire, Steve. It'll do half our job for us," Sharon piped up.

"It's pushing them upriver and uphill," Natasha agreed, eyes scanning the scrub and stones of the mountain beneath her until she caught sight of Clint, hiding in one of the deep crevasses halfway down. "I'm coming, Clint." She threw herself down the slope, one pistol-bearing arm extended towards the trees and never taking her eyes away from the last place she had seen the STRIKE agents shooting at them. Sharon and Steve's relentless gunning kept them at bay, and when she reached Clint, she jumped down into the shady, shrub-obscured ditch where he was panting lightly, his bare right bicep covered in dark, rusty brown rivulets of blood. She crouched down beside him and inspected the wound, pulling him forward to check the back of his shoulder. "Went clean through you. Looks like you'll live, if you can manage not to bleed to death on us, Hawkeye."

"There's another one in my hip. Just grazed me. The rehab's gonna be a bitch though," Clint ground out, half joke and half confession.

"Lucky we still have Helen Cho on our side then, isn't it?" she answered lightly, unwilling to show how upsetting the sight of him injured really was.

"Holy shit," Clint muttered. Natasha tilted her head at him questioningly even as she pulled off the stretchy, form-fitting hoodie she'd been wearing over her bulletproof vest and took out a knife, preparing to turn it into a tourniquet. "Look." He was pointing behind her, up above them.

Natasha twisted on the balls of her feet, peering up at the sky. It had already been chaos, the thundering echoes of gunfire bouncing between the steep slopes of the gully. But Natasha realized this was not what Clint was referencing, rather, it was the dark, ominous clouds stacking up rapidly in the previously blue sky. A menacing crack, then a rumble, drowned out all other noise from the dramatic scene. A bolt of lightning shot down towards the river, then another, then three more, and suddenly a tall, burly blond man flew down, landing atop the ridge where the fire was still spreading. His billowing red cape could be seen as he flitted through the firs and pines, lightning painting the dark skies in lurid bolts of purple and white and its reflection glinting off the hammer he was swinging.

"Is that... Thor?" Clint asked, right before he passed out.

§

"I will not throw up before I save my boyfriend's life, I will not throw up before I save my boyfriend's life," Darcy chanted to herself as she ran alongside the river, searching desperately for a sign of either man, the silvery gleam of a vibranium arm or the warm luster of Tony's red and gold armor. "Please don't be dead," she huffed, stooping to pick up a massive fallen branch of trembling aspen as she caught sight of them, another fifteen feet downriver. She moved as close to the crashing, frothing current as she dared, lowering herself to her belly on a large rock sitting partially in the river and flinging the branch out towards the oncoming bodies.

"Bucky! Grab the tree!" she screamed. He jerked towards her just as he was about to pass by, and flung out his mechanized arm wildly. The metal hand slipped along the soaked tree limb, finding no purchase on the slick branch nor its leaves, and he groaned. He switched arms, grabbing at Tony before the water could carry him away, then reached for the branch again with his flesh hand. This time he gripped it easily, and Darcy used all of her body weight to hold onto her end while he began to inch his way along the branch, finally reaching shallow enough water that he could get his feet under him and drag Tony out of the water. He pulled him up onto the trail before dropping his body; using his mechanized hand, he ripped the face plate away from the helmet.

"C'mon, Stark," he muttered.

"Fuck, thank god you guys are okay. Also, holy shit. Iron Man," Darcy wheezed. In the distance, up the river and around the bend, she could still hear Steve and Sharon's ceaseless gunfire.

Bucky frowned, his metal hand checking for a pulse. He found one, exhaling a shaky breath of relief. Then he leaned over Tony and used his mechanized arm to push down abruptly on the suit's breast plate. They both stared in awe-ridden silence as the embedded arc reactor flickered then began to glow brightly. It was their intrigued faces Tony opened his eyes to a moment later, before curling up as a wild coughing fit seized him. He rocked his body forward slightly to expel the water in his throat and lungs, groaning, "Ouch."

"Hi Mr. Iron Man, I'm Darcy Lewis and this is my boyfriend Bucky Barnes. We just saved your life but it's no biggie. I'm sure you can compensate us with whatever amount of millions you feel is fitting, you know, at an appropriate time," Darcy said, flashing him her most brazen, toothiest smile.

Tony groaned. "Barnes..."

Bucky stood up, backing away from the man. His eyes were trained on him warily and he ran a pruned hand through his long hair, shaking out the water. "Stark," he started, then paused, unsure of himself. "I..."

Tony's face screwed up, glancing back at Darcy. "Did you say... boyfriend?"

Darcy grinned again, a bit nervously this time and stood as well. Sensing Bucky's anxiety, she moved to stand protectively in front of him. "Yup. He's with me. And he's good people. He's my person, in fact. Is that gonna be an issue, Mr. Stark?"

In response, Tony merely harrumphed and held up a hand, looking at Bucky then at his hand with expectation. Bucky ran a hand down Darcy's arm, kissing her temple lightly, then moved to pull the other man back to his feet. Tony held on even once he was upright. He continued shaking the vibranium hand in his own metal-covered grip. "That's for saving my life." He dropped Bucky's hand, and before the man could begin to suspect his next move by the dark look on his face, he delivered a cruel right hook to Bucky's jaw. "And that's for my parents."

"Hey, dude, what the hell?" Darcy shrieked, rushing at him, no thought towards danger. But Tony was already backing away, hands raised. "That wasn't his fault, man!"

Bucky shook his head at Darcy, one hand on her backpack holding her back. "Nah, darlin', it's alright. Doesn't matter if it was my fault or not, it's still painful. I know that well enough." He met Tony's eyes. "I'm..."

"Don't you dare apologize to me," Tony hissed. "Not now, not after you just saved my life. I'm not... I can't listen to that from you, Barnes, not today. Someday, maybe, we'll sit down and get drunk together and you can tell me how sorry you are about what you did and maybe I'll thank you for not letting me drown in that river. But not today." Bucky nodded miserably at that, and said nothing. "I _am_ grateful to you, Short Stack," Tony added, nodding at Darcy, who continued to pout angrily. "We should get back in there, I'm sure the gang could use our help. I just need to reboot Jarvis and I'll be good to go. One minute." He fiddled with something on the panel in his arm, and the suit began to beep and drone cheerily, water rushing out of the seams as it flushed itself and restarted.

Bucky and Darcy were watching, rapt with fascination at the advanced technology on display, when they heard the crack of thunder behind them. Darcy turned just in time to see a series of lightning bolts shoot down towards the river, then a blur of red and silver rushed over their heads towards the smoldering, blazing forest from where the barrage was still being delivered.

"Holy moly," she breathed reverently, "Jane came through! He made it after all!"

Frowning, Tony asked suspiciously, "Uh, is that who I think it is?"

Darcy turned back, nodding and beaming at the two men. "Thor! Thor's here!"

§

There wasn't much battle left to be fought after that. Thor made quick work of the four remaining men who had not been struck down by Natasha, Clint, Sharon or Steve, and was merrily depositing the disgruntled, sullen Rumlow beside them, down on their side of the riverbanks, by the time Darcy, Bucky and Tony reached him.

“Thor!” Darcy panted, slightly out of breath from the jog to rejoin the group. She reached for him, wrapping her arms around his armor-encased waist and hugging tightly. “You showed up!”

“Jane called to Heimdall. He told me you were in need of assistance, Darcy,” he rumbled, beaming down at her with good humor. While they spoke, Natasha climbed down the last few yards of steep hillside, one arm supporting Clint as he leaned most of his weight onto her shoulders.

“So you're Thor,” Tony remarked, landing on the trail beside Darcy. “I'm Iron Man. I'm not a god, per se... but I'm still a pretty crucial part of this operation.”

“I see,” Thor said, diplomatically, choosing not to comment on the less-than-pristine state of Tony's mask-less, battered suit.

“Steve Rogers,” the man currently tying the wrists of each unconscious STRIKE member offered up, nodding at the Aesir, “Uh, Captain America.”

“Er... right,” Thor said, focus returning to Darcy. “You are well, my lady?” Bucky's hand reached between them, jamming itself into Thor's.

“Bucky Barnes,” he grunted. “I'm with Darcy. She's fine.” She raised her eyebrows at him and wrapped an arm around his waist after Thor had shaken his hand awkwardly.

“Thank you, Thor,” she said, all of a sudden feeling shy at the convergence of discordant people in her life but smiling up at him with gratitude anyway.

He nodded at her, and at Natasha and Sharon behind him, who had set themselves to helping Steve tie up the men. "Agent Sharon Carter, and that's Agent Natasha Romanoff," Sharon offered, pausing to wave then cackling gleefully as she delivered a spiteful kick to Rumlow's shin. He flinched and glared at her, but remained silent. "And that's Agent Clint Barton, he's not feeling too hot right now." Clint, not bothering to open his eyes or sit up, gave a small wave from the rock where Natasha had left him.

"Hey, uh... Thor... could you maybe, like... do something? About that crazy forest fire?" Darcy requested in her politest tone, pointing to the hellish inferno still raging across the river.

"Ah," he chuckled, "Let me see." He closed his eyes for a moment, his fists clenching, and growled, then raised his hands high into the air. The clouds, already a foreboding gunmetal grey, turned even darker, and with another deep, rolling peal of thunder, the skies opened up and a torrential sheet of rain began to pour down over everything. Steve lifted his shield, passing it to Bucky who held it over Darcy's head chivalrously, and she blew a grateful kiss up at him before taking it and moving to cover Clint, who was looking kind of pale. She turned back to Thor.

"Thanks, dude," she said warmly, and he grinned at her with delight.

The enhanced members of the group heard the low, droning hum of an engine coming at them from the east, and looking up over the extinguished but charred tree trunks atop the ridge, they saw not a jet but the disturbance in the rainfall where the jet, hidden by Tony's cloaking technology, was moving in. They watched silently as it approached, crossing the river and landing besides their own.

“Are we expecting fellow warriors?” Thor asked the group, peering up at the Quinjet above them as it suddenly became visible, its gangway lowering to the now-sodden grass.

“Fury,” Rumlow spit out resentfully.

§

After the agents had helped to load all of the STRIKE members, living and deceased, onto Nick's jet, he and Phil Coulson called an impromptu meeting right there, on the mountain top. Nick told them that Phil would be founding a new, stronger SHIELD, and he still wanted them to move forward with the Avengers Initiative. He asked them to consider joining, and offered a ride back to Washington to anyone who wanted one.

“I'll go,” Sharon said, glancing quickly at Steve.

He turned to her. “You could, uh... you could stay here, if you wanted.” Natasha smirked at the tentative offer, but remained silent.

Sharon glanced at Bucky, standing at a distance from the group, his arm wrapped around Darcy's shoulders, then back at Steve. “I think... you guys need time to catch up,” she told him, then more loudly, so everyone could hear, she said, “Nick, I'll take you up on the job offer. I think Peggy will be pretty pleased to hear I'm working alongside a Stark... You are joining, aren't you?” She turned towards Tony.

He sighed. “I could pretend like I won't but let's be honest... obviously I'm going to. But our headquarters are _not_ going to be in D.C., that town's a bore. We'll work out of my building, in Manhattan.”

“Fine by me,” Steve threw in, smiling down at Sharon. “See you in New York?”

“Yeah,” she said, offering him a hand to shake and then tugging him down to brush her lips against his cheek. She stepped back, smiling, their eyes locked for an electric moment, then she turned and headed up the ramp of the Quinjet. Over her shoulder she threw out, “Until then, Rogers.” He watched, a slight blush high on his cheeks, until she was out of sight.

“Make you a deal, Coulson. You treat these bullet wounds, get me home, explain to my wife how it's not my fault I got hurt and keep my family off the books... and I'm in.” Clint quirked an eyebrow at the man, who nodded his assent good-naturedly. Nick snorted and nodded as well, and the archer waved at the others, throwing out, “Catch you in New York, fellow Avengers!” before Phil slung his arm around Clint's left side and helped him hobble aboard. 

“It would seem I was not so desperately needed after all,” Thor observed, chortling to himself with amusement. “But I _am_ glad to have met you, Colonel Fury. Son of Coul is a good man, and if he believes in what you are doing here, then I do as well. I cannot stay here in Midgard, there is much to be done in restoring balance to the other realms, but if these... Avengers... have need of me, you may call upon me and I shall endeavor to return.” He bowed deeply to them, accepted Darcy's proffered high-five, and began swinging Mjølnir, the wind whipping up around him as he crouched into the grass then pushed himself up, vanishing into the clouds.

“What an exit,” Phil said appreciatively, his head peeking out from the top of the ramp. “Those Asgardians really do excel at the drama.” Tony rolled his eyes, snorting derisively, but Phil simply nodded at the group before disappearing inside once more.

Only Nick remained standing in front of them, and he tilted his head, eyeing Bucky cautiously. “The offer... it's for you too, Barnes.”

Bucky nodded, hand tightening on Darcy's shoulder. She squeezed his waist sympathetically. “I need time, uh, to think about it,” he answered.

“And you have some. Not a lot, but some. The things HYDRA made you do, we can help you set that right,” Nick answered, then added, "I hope to see you all again soon." He offered a salute to the men then turned, entering the jet, the gangway pulling up behind him and after a moment, the turbine engines whirling furiously, the Quinjet ascended in the air and with a roaring whoosh, made off towards the eastern horizon.

“Ugh, I don't know about you guys, but I think I need a beer,” Darcy said, from under Bucky's arm. “There's supposed to be a meadow with some campgrounds about a mile south of this river, what do you say?”

“Last one there has to make the fire,” Tony quipped, as he soared up into the air and flew off.

§

“How'd he know where to find us?” Bucky asked, after they'd made camp. A large, calm lake sat nearby, the cool, post-storm breeze coming off of it causing them all to huddle closer to the fire they'd lit in one of the pits. The sun had gone behind the surrounding hills, the valley cast into electric blue shadow as night quickly descended.

Natasha looked up from the tent she and Steve were erecting. They'd grabbed it from the ruined Quinjet, along with Clint's stash of beer he thought no one knew about, and some rations. “Fury? I sent him the coordinates when we landed. He and Phil were waiting in Spokane with the jet, they knew we'd end up nearby.”

Bucky nodded, and lowered himself onto the fireside log. Darcy sank down next to him, leaning into his body and sighing happily as she took a long pull from her beer. She grabbed one of Clint's unused arrows she'd pilfered from the jet and jabbed a giant marshmallow onto the sharp steel arrowhead, swinging it out over the crackling flames.

“Will you join, Bucky?” Steve asked, coming to sit across the fire from them, on the same log where Tony, now dressed in the expensive jeans and designer pea-coat he'd packed in the jet, was sitting quietly. Both men looked towards Bucky, hoping for different answers.

“I...” Bucky gazed down at Darcy's upturned face, and she smiled encouragingly at him, “Yeah, I think so. If I can... do some, uh, good. Yeah, I will.” She nodded at him, pushing herself up to kiss his bearded cheek. Tony watched the interaction critically, sighed to himself, and shrugged, looking down into the fire.

“What about you, Darcy?” Natasha asked, joining the group around the fire. “What will you do, when you're finished this road trip?”

“I, uh, yeah I have no clue,” she answered honestly.

“You should consider joining SHIELD. We could use people with your kind of intellectual curiosity,” Natasha proposed.

Darcy's eyebrows went up with surprise. “Oh, uh. Hah! Yeah, you know, Agent... Um, Sharon said something like that. About me joining. I dunno if I'm really agent material,” she stuttered, the woman's intense scrutiny making her nervous.

“There's more than one way to be an agent,” Steve countered.

“Oh,” Darcy said lamely. “Maybe.” She too stared pensively into the fire, its bright orange flames reflecting off her glasses, then pulled out the marshmallow, offering it to Bucky. He grabbed it with his cybernetic fingers, the heat registering but not bothering him, and she loaded another one. Across the fire, Steve grabbed an arrow and a marshmallow as well, smiling at her companionably. Darcy worked up the nerve to meet Natasha's gaze and asked, “And you, Agent... Romanoff?”

“Fury has a mission for me, retrieval of a scientist he wants to be part of the initiative, a... Doctor Banner. He's been laying low for a few years somewhere in India. That's where I'm headed next,” she said in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. Steve pulled the charred, blazing treat from the fire a moment later and before he could reach for it Natasha plucked the cindered outer shell off, somehow managing to make shoving burnt marshmallow into her mouth look graceful. She smiled slyly at Steve, and he huffed at her before contenting himself with the gooey, dripping marshmallow innards.

“Cool,” Darcy breathed, fascination written across her face. “India. Home of the Pogeyan and the Mande Barung.” They all stared at her blankly.

"Uh, what?" Tony asked at last.

Bucky cleared his throat. “The Pogeyan, it's, uh, a cat thing. That right, Darce? And the Mande Barung, that's...”

“A yeti,” she answered, nodding enthusiastically. “Will you be up in the mountains? You should look for it if you are.”

“Sure,” Natasha answered placidly, humoring the younger woman. “I'll keep an eye out.”

The group continued talking late into the night, Steve, Tony, and Bucky getting swept up in an involved debate over modern technological advances while Natasha listened keenly as Darcy recounted the journey she and Bucky had been on, then her encounter with Thor and his Asgardian compatriots. The bonfire danced merrily between them, keeping the troubles of the world at a distance for a while.

§

"Remember Sister Mary Francis? Don't know how anyone was supposed to learn anything, let alone algebra, from that woman," Bucky murmured, chuckling nostalgically. He smoothed his right hand over Darcy's hair. She was fast asleep, the excitement of the day and Clint's beers having caught up with her. Her head rested on his thigh, her body stretched out on the massive, halved log where they were still stationed.

"Ah, knowing you two received a Catholic school education explains so much," Tony snarked.

Steve's face twisted into a grimace, and he shook his head, chuckling. "Sister Mary Francis never met a ruler she wouldn't break over some poor slob's knuckles."

"Including mine," Bucky snorted.

" _Two_ of mine," Steve added. Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him, so he explained, "Got caught reading my comic book in class the first time. Second time..."

"He was passing a note for me, to that cute little blonde who sat in front of him," Bucky cut in, laughing. "Uh, Marlene, Maureen..."

Steve sighed. "Marla," he supplied.

"That's right, Marla. She was a-" Bucky didn't finish his thought, pausing mid-word as a strange sound rolled through the trees around them. Tony stood up, looking towards the northern hills, and the noise came again. It was a mournful bellow, deep and somehow human despite its bestial, wordless nature.

“Sounds like a gorilla,” Tony muttered, pulling out the night vision goggles from the bag Steve had lugged to the campsite.

“Maybe a cougar?” Natasha proposed.

Steve's brows pulled together in confusion, and he turned towards the fire, sitting down again. “No way that's a cat. Sounds more like a bear.”

Tony, having walked the perimeter of the clearing without seeing anything, returned, pulled off the goggles, and reached for his briefcase, yanking it open and stepping onto it then triggering the mechanism to open the suit around him. The low howl came again, and although farther away this time, he shuddered. The armor finished unfolding, and Tony was once again fully protected except for his face.

“Leaving so soon?” Natasha teased, “Afraid of a little wildlife?”

“Never was much of an outdoorsman, not a chance in hell I was going to sleep out here tonight anyway. Not when I can be in my own bed in an hour. You going to wake your gal, let her know her hero Sasquatch is out roaming the hills? Ask her if she wants me to go take care of him for her?” Tony asked Bucky, nodding at Darcy, who was breathing evenly, deaf to the eerie sounds around them.

Bucky looked out towards the cacophonous, dark forest, then down at the peacefully resting woman in his lap. “Nah,” he answered, shaking his head, “Let her keep this mystery.”


	15. Sasquatch III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The inclination to believe in the fantastic may strike some as a failure in logic, or gullibility, but it’s really a gift. A world that might have Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster is clearly superior to one that definitely does not."   
> 
> 
> ###### Chris Van Allsburg, author ( _The Polar Express, Jumanji_ )

#### Big Meadows, Umatilla National Forest, Oregon

"So... can it be salvaged?" Darcy was standing before the burned out husk of the Quinjet's left wing, squinting against the late afternoon sunlight as she surveyed the damage. She peered under the nose of the jet, where Natasha was inspecting a handful of fried and tangled wires. She shoved the mess back into its compartment, leaned back on her heels and sighed. She shot Steve a quick glance and he shook his head, shrugging.

"I'm not an engineer," she admitted. "I know how to fly these things, I understand how they operate, but I wouldn't even know where to _begin_ fixing that wing or the avionics that were damaged during the fight."

"What about Stark's kid?" Bucky chimed in from a nearby rock. He'd settled down to flip through Clint's battered copy of _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_ , which he'd found tucked away behind one of the bullet-ridden jump seats.

Steve peered out at him thoughtfully from the cockpit, then returned to his task of clearing the canopy's shattered glass from the controls. "Seems like a smart guy," he offered, his tone neutral and measured.

"He basically designed these things." Natasha slinked out from beneath the underbelly and joined Darcy in front of the left wing. "If anyone can fix it, rebuild it, do whatever needs to be done to get it back in the air... it's definitely him."

"Who gets to call him? Doubt he'll be eager to come help if he hears from me," Bucky noted pessimistically.

Darcy sighed. "I'll do it. I'm pretty sure he likes me." Natasha nodded at that, then pulled her phone from her jacket pocket, unlocking it and handing it to Darcy.

"Good. I'm tired of asking him for favors. Do it now, before you change your mind," she directed.

"How are you getting a signal out here? My phone had zero bars! Before it died, that is," Darcy gazed down at the shiny Starkphone in wonder.

Natasha smirked. "Spy secrets. I could tell you, but... well, you know."

"It's a Stark Industries satphone," Steve said in a stage whisper.

"Damn it, Rogers," Natasha murmured, green eyes sparking playfully. She shook her head with mock disappointment. "Ruining all my fun."

§

"You've got Stark."

"Uh, hello? Mr. Stark? It's Darcy Lewis. From the other day. With the fight and the river and the campfire?"

"..."

"Sorry, I don't know if this is like a bad time but... um. Well. We kind of need to leave this forest at some point. I mean Bucky and I were planning to hike out of it but Steve and Natasha don't really seem that, uh, into that idea? We were kind of wondering if you could... come back. And help us. Fix this plane."

"I could..."

"Hey, awesome! Thanks a lo-"

"Listen, you seem like a smart kid. What're you doing, Lewis?"

"Uhh... well, I'm on the phone with you, asking for help. So that I can-"

"That's not what I mean."

"Oh. In that case, I have no idea what you're asking me."

"What're you doing with _him_?"

"..."

"He tell you? What he did to my parents? Have you seen the news, about who he is? I know he was all Patty Hearst at the time, but it doesn't change the facts of what he did. You got a thing for murderers?"

"That's a pretty ridiculous question to ask a stranger, Mr. Stark."

"Except you're not a stranger, are you? You saved my life. So call me Tony."

"Helped _him_ save your life, by the way. And I guess... I'm willing to take a leap of faith, Tony. I believe him. I believe _in_ him. I think he's a good man. I think he's been abused. I _don't_ think he's beyond redemption. Do you?"

"... I don't know, kid."

"To be honest, that's better than I was expecting. I was afraid you were gonna say 'no.'"

"Yeah well, I'm not so certain about some things anymore. Happens when you get older, brace yourself, you'll see soon enough."

"I love him, Tony."

"Okay, so... I'm not actually interested in the sordid details of your messed up relationship. But, let's just say for argument's sake, that I believed you when you say that. How long ago did you meet him?"

"We've spent every waking moment of the last three weeks, give or take, together."

"... You're even younger than I realized."

"Maybe so, but, well, that's still how I feel."

"Just... be careful, Short Stack. You seem like a nice enough girl. He's not a nice guy."

"I... fine. If I tell you I'll be careful, will you come and help us?"

"Send me some pictures of the damage, I'll be there in a few hours."

§

Tony, true to his word, showed up three hours later. He came by helicopter, the giant 'SI' on its side visible from miles away. He landed almost on top of the Quinjet, on the very same ridge, but despite the close proximity he still made Steve lug the parts and equipment out from the helicopter's cabin and over to the scorched grass underneath the jet. It took him a day and a half to repair what could be saved, and rebuild, rewire, or replace the rest. He left several times, pulling off his down jacket to don the Iron Man suit so he could fly to the nearest hardware store for some part or tool he needed. Darcy, Natasha, and Steve did what they could to help. Bucky hovered at the edge of the scene the entire time, never completely leaving but never involving himself either. Darcy tried to urge him to help Tony, at the very least to talk to him, but he just eyed the man warily, becoming increasingly taciturn and withdrawn. 

§

Once Tony was finished what he'd come to do, he didn't linger. He said his goodbyes, hinting at some magnificent party he'd be throwing in Manhattan once they'd gotten the whole gang together, ruffled Darcy's hair impishly, threw out one last unrequited come-on towards Natasha, climbed back into his helicopter and departed. He and Bucky did not speak. They didn't even interact. Steve decided to do a test run before they flew out of Umatilla, asking the only other nigh-indestructible member of their group, Bucky, to ride along as co-pilot.

Bucky was enjoying the flight more than he'd thought he would when he'd agreed to come along. He had no love lost for heights, even all these years after his one terrible, life-changing fall. But he was a safe distance back from the front of the cockpit, and on their second loop over the alpine woodlands he even worked up the nerve to peer out over the nose, appreciating the wild majesty of the landscape in general, the occasional smattering of brilliant color on the peaks in particular.

The flight had been conducted mostly in silence, but at last Steve cleared his throat. Bucky tensed. He was sure he knew what was coming.

"Will you fly back to New York with us, pal?" Steve asked, in a soft, hopeful voice, not looking back towards Bucky.

And there it was. The call to service, once more. The return to his place as a weapon, as an asset. He knew it would be different; there would be new masters, and their ends would be different from HYDRA's. But his fear, his terror, was that the means would be the same.

"Steve..." he started. Steve's head shifted infinitesimally, waiting for an answer while he pretended to be preoccupied with a set of controls to his right. Bucky said nothing more. He couldn't explain his hesitation; this was a man to whom, once, he could have told anything. But now it seemed there was something in his throat, something gumming up all the words he needed to say.

"I know what I'm asking, I'd understand if you didn't want to fight anymore," Steve murmured, his tone placatory. "But you're important. To me, to Fury."

"Not to Stark." It was all Bucky could manage to get out.

Steve sighed. "Maybe not right now. But remember what a jerk Howard used to be? Seems like he came around, became more level-headed..."

"Right before I killed him?" Bucky gasped, flinching as his words laid bare the horrible truth of it.

"I..." Steve paused, flicked a few switches, then turned to face him, his blue eyes wide and earnest. "I didn't say anything about it bein' easy, Buck."

Bucky nodded, and let his head drop back against the headrest of his seat. He was so tired, just from _thinking_ about the kind of work it was going to take to get past what the last half of a century had done to him. The things that he had done during it. "I get that there's a lot riding on this, Steve. 'Gotta get rid of this control, these triggers HYDRA has inside me. Gotta make things right with Stark. Gotta figure out what'll happen with Darcy and me, when we're not on the road..."

"What's happened so far?" Steve asked, eyebrows raised.

"None of your business," Bucky scoffed, kicking his booted foot out to tap against Steve's shin. The man grinned in response.

"I just meant... you're together, that's all. Aren't you?"

Bucky exhaled heavily, eyes sliding away to watch the peaks passing by below them before returning to Steve's face. "I can't let her go, Steve. I need her. Maybe it makes me weak and maybe it puts her in danger, but that's how it is."

"So that's how it is then," Steve echoed. "Nobody ever said she can't come along. SHIELD could find a place for her. Natasha likes her, Sharon too. They want to train her right, mold all of that potential into the kind of agent she could be, someone capable like them. They want her in charge of a paranormal investigation unit some day."

Bucky's lips twitched into a slight smile at the thought. Darcy chasing down UFO's and ghosts, throwing around a government badge when anyone tried to stop her and pulling a tazer on any idiot thick enough to get in her way. It was a job custom-built for his girl. He couldn't deny her that. His grin faded. "I just... it'll all start right back up again, won't it? When we get to New York. The fightin' and the work and she'll be busy and I'll be busy. There's just so much that needs doin', and I just want... I mean, is it so selfish..." He drifted off, unable to ask for the thing he really wanted from the man who was once his best friend. He met Steve's eyes, silently pleading.

Steve understood, and he chuckled, shaking his head. "Buck, if I'd have known you were such a sap back before the war I never woulda felt so bad about my own lack of prowess. James Buchanan Barnes, secretly a romantic this whole time."

Grimacing, Bucky grunted, "Shut up, punk."

"Alright, buddy, have it your way. You want to take some time with her? Take some time with her. You promise me you'll come home, to Brooklyn, I trust you to do that. I just... you _are_ important, Barnes. To me, to that girl of yours, to this operation we're trying to build. You could be something. Be a part of somethin' good, again. Like the Howling Commandos. Don't run away from that."

"I hear you, Rogers," Bucky answered quietly. "I'm not runnin' away. I'm just taking my time moving forwards, is all."

§

#### Yreka, California

“Thank you, Natasha, Steve, for the lift. Seriously. It's been tight camping together but I am, like, so ready for a real bed," Darcy joked, hoisting her backpack up on her shoulder. She looked to Bucky, who had been conferring quietly with Steve for the entire walk into town. “I'm gonna go rent a room, alright babe?" He nodded at her, smiling gratefully.

“Think about what I told you, Darcy, about joining us?” Natasha prompted.

Darcy blushed, bobbing her head enthusiastically, then gave a small wave to the group, pivoted and made off down the quiet street, in the direction of the Motel 6.

Bucky couldn't help but check her out as she walked away, leering maybe just a little bit, before he turned back to the pair. They'd landed the Quinjet up in the evergreen mountains that surrounded Yreka, easily locating a hiking trail that led them down into the foothills, and eventually out of the trees. It had taken a while but at last they had meandered off of a gentle, wildrye-covered slope and onto the faded asphalt of a lonely suburban road, a crooked blue street sign informing them they were on Campus Drive.

“Here, Buck,” Steve said, shoving something into his hand, “To keep you going. Until you're ready to come home.” Bucky looked down; he was holding thick wad of cash and what looked to be Steve's credit card.

“This so you can track me?” he joked, holding up the card for inspection.

“Would it be such a bad thing if it was?” Steve asked, sincerely. Bucky shrugged at that, and pocketed the gift. 

“I'll accept this as a loan, pal, which I'll repay when I come work for your superhero team full-time.”

“Sure you will, jerk.” Steve smiled at him, his eyes full of unspoken emotion.

Bucky pulled him for a one-armed hug, then nodded to Natasha. “Agent Romanoff,” he said cordially.

She raised an arch eyebrow at his formality. “Sergeant Barnes.”

He dipped his head at the pair, then turned to follow his girl. He looked back once as he entered the motel's front office, but they were gone, swallowed up by the hills of northern California and already on their way back to the business of keeping the world safe.

§

Darcy heard Bucky enter the bathroom while she was still luxuriating under the hot spray of the shower, so she called out, “Everything okay?”

His body was distorted and blurred through the frosted glass door but she heard a muffled, “Yeah it's fine.” He seemed to be doing something with the sink, so she closed her eyes once more, enjoying the feeling of the shampoo washing out of her hair and taking a week's worth of grime with it.

“You coming in?” she shouted.

The door opened, but Bucky was still dressed in a pair of dark jeans, his long wet hair combed back neatly. His eyes drifted over her body slowly, clearly enjoying the view. “Nah, darlin', enjoy your shower. I'm clean enough and you've been talking about how much you needed this all morning.” He leaned in, his hand landing on her hip as he pecked her on the lips, then sliding up to brush his thumb against the side of her breast. She gasped against his mouth and he withdrew, giving her a rakish grin and a wink before disappearing, closing the shower door behind him. She saw his shape moving in front of the sink for a while longer, and closed her eyes, losing track of time, enthralled by the novelty of feeling safe, warm, and clean all at once. She opened her eyes when she heard the bathroom door open and close once more.

The room felt oddly cold without him, so Darcy finished bathing perfunctorily. She rubbed at her soaked hair briefly with the towel then wrapped it around herself, opening the door and stalking out into the bedroom.

Bucky was slouched down in one of the room's armchairs, sipping from a beer he'd bought from the man in the main office, and he held another extended out towards her in his vibranium fingers. He still wasn't wearing a shirt and now Darcy took _her_ time admiring his firm, sculpted chest and ridged abdomen, his shoulders, one muscled and one mechanized. He hadn't bother to button his jeans, and Darcy's eyes were drawn the dark hair peeking out above his fly, the bulge pressing against his zipper. He'd shaved his beard off; his sharp jaw and dimpled chin were finally visible and Darcy thought it gave him a slightly boyish air. It made his deep-set, melancholic eyes seem larger but looking at him, she could barely see the light blue of his irises. Just dark pupils, dilated by lust and need. So she took a deep breath, and dropped the towel.

Darcy sauntered across the room, enjoying the warmth spreading through her limbs at the feel of his gaze on her, like he was warming her up, like his desire was a physical sensation she could feel on her heated flesh. She leaned over his body, reaching for the beer-holding arm he'd flung behind the chair. His calloused right hand, cold from holding the beer, grabbed onto her waist and tugged slightly. Darcy toppled into his lap, her sex making contact with the rough fabric of his fly.

“That's better,” he mumbled against her breast, as he let her grab the beer from him. She tilted her head back, taking a long swallow, and hummed in pleasure when he laved at one of her nipples, the cool smooth fingers of his left hand coming up to caress her other breast, thumbing at her other nipple until it tightened.

“I thought we'd never get rid of those squares,” she said lightly, shifting down until her nose was buried in the crook of his neck. He hands were on her bare back then, sliding along her spine, and she shivered closer, his skin warm and comforting where it stuck slightly to hers in the humid room.

“Hmmm,” he answered, his right hand tugging slightly on her damp hair to lift her face towards his, sucking on her lower lip then her tongue when she opened up to him, grinding against him minutely. “Darcy, honey, I've just got to take you to bed now.” 

She took another long pull of the beer, then placed it on the flimsy table beside them and began to tug his jeans down past his powerful hips. “Bed's too far.” He nodded, lifting slightly off the seat to push his pants to his knees. “Help me out here,” she instructed, one hand on his shoulder to lift herself up and align him against her, moaning at the feeling of the blunt head of his cock against her hot, swollen slit.

“Gladly,” he answered, catching her mouth again as he took her hip in one hand, his dick in the other, and helped her lower herself onto him.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” she whimpered, at the feel of him breaching her, the slight burn of his thick member stretching her out, making space for himself inside of her. She kept one hand on his shoulder and reached back, holding onto his knee with the other so she had some leverage as he gave a small thrust, then another, inching himself deeper. Finally, he was in to the hilt, her clit resting firmly against his pubic bone. She gyrated a little experimentally, and gasped at the stimulation, the arm extended behind her beginning to shake.

“Yeah,” was all he panted back at her, the feeling of her sheathing him, tight and hot and _his_ goddammit, robbing him of words, of sense. He leaned up to kiss her again, his fingers spreading to encompass her hips as he pulled her down against her, urging her to grind against him until she made that pretty little gasping noise again. “How's that, angel?” 

“Fuck, Bucky, oh, oh it's...”

“охуити́тельно?” he teased, grinning when she gasped again as he gave her another few slow, lazy thrusts. He held a breast in each hand, leaning up to lick a bead of water that slowly blazed a trail from her hair down to her sternum.

“Yesyesyes,” she wheezed, head thrown back as she reached down, rubbing at her clit, the exposed inches of his member when she raised herself up.

“You close, honey?” he asked, when she collapsed forward onto his chest, rocking her hips against him.

“So close, so close,” she chanted, her thighs shaking with the effort of bouncing herself on his lap. He started helping again, supporting her hips as she raised herself up and sank back down on him. He felt it, the moment she went tight, every muscle in her body strung to a fever pitch, before she keened against his clavicle, reaching down to rub her thumb across her clitoris and then she was spasming around him, her teeth sinking into his skin lightly as she came, quivering, on his cock.

He did his best to keep still while she rode the wave of her orgasm, her limbs twitching slightly from the last few jolts of pleasure before she nosed at the underside of his jaw, kissing the sensitive, newly exposed skin there.

“That was... mmm... yeah,” she breathed. “But... you didn't...?”

“Not yet, Darce. Can you go again?” he asked, looking into her unfocused eyes, her face glowing with sweat and contentment.

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, ducking her face back into his neck, so he lifted her off of him, picking her up by the back of her thighs and carrying her to the bed. He lowered her to the sheets gently, kicked off his jeans, and crawled up over her body, then settled himself between her legs. “Hi,” she giggled, beaming up at him. He kissed the corner of her goofy smile, grabbing a knee with each hand and pulling them up around his waist. She flung her arms around his neck and pulled him down, mewling when he slid back into her. He had an easier time of it, she was slick and relaxed from her orgasm, but Bucky was nothing if not an ambitious man, so he was aiming to wring another one out of her. He pushed until they were connected intimately, wound up so tightly around each other he felt like he was a part of her, like this was right where he belonged, had belonged all along.

Then he started to thrust, plunging deep inside of her every time until she began to pant from it, intoning something under her breath he couldn't quite make out. She slid across the sheets, up the bed until her upper back was rested up against the headboard and he chased her, curling his body over hers and claiming her lips in a bruising, forceful kiss. He was playing for keeps, now. She had to know, to understand what this meant to him.

She whimpered into his mouth, around his tongue, and licked at the roof of his mouth. He thrust so hard in response he hit that elusive bundle of nerves buried up inside her. She yelped at the feel of it and he reared back, then repeated the motion again and again, brushing her g-spot each time he drove home inside of her. When she started shaking and letting out a low, continuous moan he bent over, sucking on the side of her neck and lacing his fingers with one of her hands, then reaching for her swollen, sensitive nub with his other.

Again, she began to pulse around him, her thighs gripping him as she howled out her release. He pulled her in as close as he could, only his hips moved sloppily, savagely, finally whispering how much he fucking loved her in her ear as he came, the force of it like a kick in his gut as his entire universe shrank down to a single point of pleasure. She wailed at his words, another tiny orgasm rocking through her at the feel of his skin against hers, his length so deep inside her.

He collapsed onto her, his lips pressed against her neck, and it was then that he realized what she'd been humming repeatedly. His name. “Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” she whispered against his hair, releasing her thighs and squeezing the fingers still enmeshed with hers when his full weight became too much.

He rolled off her, coming to rest on his elbow as he ran his hand down her still-heaving, sweaty sternum, stomach, down to pet at the mess they'd made between her thighs and on the sheets underneath. She swatted at his hand, giving him an arch look, then rolled over to swing her leg around his hips, pulling him in close.

“I love you,” she declared boldly, almost defiantly, and stared up into his eyes like it was a challenge.

“Good,” he answered, “Because I already told you, angel, you're stuck with me.”

Her big, blue eyes glittered as she broke out into a wide smile, and leaned up to kiss him sweetly. It was a sharp contrast, the tenderness of their lips meeting, to how aggressively they'd both pursued their pleasure moments before, but the simple intimacy of it was all the more powerful because of that juxtaposition.

“You've gotta do it, go join them. It's the right thing to do, for you personally and for, like, superhero reasons. You know that right?” She spoke between kisses, on his lips then across his cheeks, over his jaw and down his neck. His slid his flesh hand along the careening curves of her waist, her hips, her thighs, up into her still damp tresses.

“Will you come with me?” he asked.

“Yep,” she said simply, returning to his mouth and offering another gentle brush of her lips against his. “This is a real ride or die thing we've got going on here, and I'm _very_ into it.”

§

When Darcy woke once again to an empty bed late the next morning, she felt a brief stab of panic slice through her chest. But when she rolled over, there was a scrap of paper on Bucky's pillow. Only three words were written on it, but they allayed all her fears. "Be back soon." That was all it said, but it was enough. She took a deep breath, and rose from the bed.

She decided to treat herself to another shower (much needed after they'd gone two more rounds before passing out just as the sky was beginning to lighten). The feeling of being truly clean for the first time in days was a miracle, and the time spent scrubbing up allowed her to work through her thoughts. Bucky would be back soon. Last night everything had been put on the back burner so they could get down (and how, she thought, feeling sore muscles twinge when she reached down to grab the soap from the shower floor). But they'd have to talk about him, about what needed to happen now that the immediate threats of Rumlow and Rollins and STRIKE had been eliminated. Her mind shifted gears, considering Natasha's offer. She was leaning heavily towards taking it, joining the new SHIELD. Who knew? Maybe she could do some good. Help protect some of the creatures she'd encountered, maybe learn about some new ones. Feeling settled and resolved and clean, she turned off the tap.

Sure enough, when she stepped out of the bathroom, clad in only a terrycloth towel, he was there, sitting on the foot of the bed. The TV was on, the news playing at a low volume, but his head spun towards her the minute she opened the door, and he swiftly turned it off. 

“Well hello sergeant,” she simpered, pulling on some underwear, then jeans and a sweater. “I woke up without you again. Been a while since that's happened, I don't love it.”

“Me neither, doll, but I needed to pick up a few things. Grab your coat and some shoes and I'll show you,” he explained, leaning in when she offered up her full, pursed lips to him. She shoved her feet inside her old rain boots, the warmest shoes she had, then wrapped herself in a thick scarf and her coat.

“Ready!” she exclaimed, shoving her glasses onto the bridge of her nose.

Bucky didn't answer, just took her hand in his and tugged her towards the door. He opened it and made a sweeping motion towards the car parked in the space directly in front of their room. It was a classic muscle car: two white leather seats up front with a bench in the back, sporting a glittering black coat and a white stripe painted the length of the hood, trunk, and roof.

“It's a 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle,” Bucky told her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and pulling her body close to his. His lips touched her neck lightly, and dragged along it, pressing at the corner of her jaw. She leaned into him and turned her head back, returning his kiss. “I missed out on the '60s and '70s and all the fantastic cars that were being made then. Figured I can always sell it later, if I need to.”

“It's a beautiful car, Bucky,” she breathed.

“I, uh, don't much care for flying, so I was thinkin' I could drive back to New York in style. But... I'll need a co-pilot.”

Her face lit up, and she spun in his arms, her hands running up to grasp his thick biceps. “Really?” she asked.

“Grab your stuff angel, we're burning daylight,” he answered, winking and giving her ass a squeeze. She disappeared into the motel room, then emerged several minutes later with her backpack, which she flung onto the back seat through the open passenger side window. “You know, a car this special's got to have a name to match,” he said as he slid in behind the wheel, grabbing her hand and grazing his lips along her knuckles.

“Oh my god, you can't,” she said.

“Why not?” He grinned, shifting gears and reversing, then driving out of the lot and onto the highway. “Her name could be Darcy. You said you wanted somethin' named after you.”

She guffawed, then slid her hand along the supple leather of his seat. “I don't know if I can ride around in a car named after myself, as much as that appeals to my inner narcissist. I have a better idea.”

He shrugged. “Alright. What do we name it?”

“Champy,” she said, “I mean, I liked you before Vermont. But I think it was that damn lake monster that made me realize just how important you were to me.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, "I know exactly what you mean. I just..."

"I know," she said, smiling at him. "You know, there's this line at the end of _Speed_. It's an action movie, don't worry about it. We'll watch it eventually. Anyway, Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves are making out after they've saved the day and he says something like, relationship based on crazy experiences don't last but then she's all, well I guess we just have to get it on or whatever. And that's, like... us, sorta. But not, because we're about intense experiences and sex _and_... and..."

"And?"

"Love, Bucky. It's all love in this car. Champy the Lovemobile." She beamed at him.

He grinned, shaking his head as he tried to fight back his laughter. "That's true, Darcy, but it doesn't make the name any less ridiculous. Still, you wanna name my beautiful new automobile 'Champy the Lovemobile'... I'm good with that. Now, honey, where are we headed?"

She bounced in her seat, her excitement and happiness overflowing as she folded her legs under her and got comfortable. “Well, there are still a few more spots in this area I'd like to check out for Bigfoot. Then there's Tahoe Tessie, then the Fouke monster in Arkansas, and the Garou in New Orleans, which I totally missed last time, not to mention the Ozark Howler, the Goatman, the Grassman...”

She chattered on about cryptids all across the country that they could investigate, her fingers scratching lightly at his scalp in that way she knew he liked. There was still more to say, but there was also time. So he settled deeper into his seat, feeling hopeful and content and ready to take another long, strange drive with the woman he loved before they, too, got down to the business of keeping the world safe. And just maybe, in the process, each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived happily ever after. For a month. Then Loki showed to steal the Tesseract and try his hand at global domination, at which point everything went to hell in a handbasket all over again.
> 
> Okay but seriously if you've made it this far, thank you _so_ much for coming with me on this oddball journey I cooked up. If you've enjoyed what you've read, I'd love to hear about it. _*winks*_ If you haven't enjoyed what you've read, I'd still love to hear about it. _*winking intensifies*_ Basically I'd love to hear what you thought, gentle reader. _*wink game is so strong one eye is basically just shut now*_
> 
> Okay, that's all from me. Be cool my babies.
> 
> "охуити́тельно" ... excellent, fucking awesome, very good


End file.
